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DELIGHTFUL 
DALMATIA 



BY 

ALICE LEE MOQUfi 



Illustrated 






FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 

1914 



DELIGHTFUL 
DALMATIA 



BY 

ALICE LEE MOQUE 



Illustrated 



mwr. 



FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 

1914 



DB4-03 



Copyright, 1914, by 

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY 

[Printed in the United States of America} 

Published, October, 1914 



OCT 14 1914 
©CI.A380869 




We sit by the glowing fire and dream, 

My love and I, together, 
And float away on mem'ry's stream, 

With no thought of the weather. 
Without howls the wind, th' snow and sleet 

Are dashed on our window-pane, 
But we've come back to the old days, sweet, 

And live them over again. 



Away in our little bark we float, 

To Dalmatian lands of yore, 
And ''Happy Thoughts" is th' name of th' boat, 

That carries us back once more 
To far-off lands, o'er the ocean wide, 

Which we see in the firelight bright, 
As we sit together, side by side, 

And dream, on a winter's night. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I. The Start, and Rovigno our First 

Port 15 

ii. pola, the quarnero, and the two 

Lussins . 33 

III. Selve, and the Treasures of Zara . . 50 

IV. More Treasures of Zara 70 

V. Sebenico and her Famous "Giorgio". 86 

VI. Trau, and her Patron Saint .. .. 11 1 
VII. Spalato, and Diocletian's Palace . . 133 

VIII. The "Palatium" of Yesterday, the 

City of To-Day 153 

IX. A Presentiment and a Drive to 

Almissa 173 

X. A Drive to the Jader and Salona . . 190 

XI. A Glimpse of Lesina and Cannoza's 

Famous Plane-Trees 207 

V 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

XII. Ragusa: A Christian Lighthouse in 

a Moslem Sea 288 

XIII. Ragusa: The Sponza, Orlando's 

Column, and Caboga 249 

XIV. Ragusa: St. Biagio, the Dominican 

Church and Convent, and the 
Duomo 272 

XV. Ragusa: The Rector's Palace, and 

its Story 286 

XVI. Glimpses of St. Giacomo, Lacroma, 

AND THE BOCCHE 306 

XVII. Cattaro: The Duomo, St. Luka, and 

a Disgusted American 327 



VI 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Cattaro Cover Panel 

Ragusa Frontispiece 

Antique Venetian Mirror Dedication 

FACING PAGE 

Rovigno . . . . General View. Cathedral of St. Eu- 

femia towering above the city.. .. 16 „/ 

Pola Amphitheater 36 J 

Interior of Amphitheater 38 

Porta Gemina 38 ■■ 

Temple of Augustus 42 

Lussin-Piccolo View of City and Harbor 48 

Zara Porta Terra Firma 60 

Ancient Wells 60 

Piazza dell' Erbe 68 

Sebenico . . . . General View of City 92 

Picturesque People 92 

Giorgio's Famous Cathedral . . . . 108 

Interior of the Cathedral 108 

Trau Lion's Doorway of the Cathedral .. 126 

The Marina 130 

Interior of Loggia 130 

Spalato .. ..Bird's-eye View of Palace, Restored 154 

Plan of the "Palatium" 156 

Porta Aurea ("Golden Gate") . . .. 158 

Crypto-porticus, and Harbor . . . . 158 

Vestibule and Peristyle 162 , 

Entrance through Peristyle to the 

Duomo 17 2 

Fishing Boat with Pointed Sail . . . . 172 1 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING PAGE 

Salona .. ..Ruins of the Ancient Basilica .. .. 198 v 

Lesina .. ..Loggia and Forte Spagnuola .. .. 210, 

Gravosa .. ..View of City and Harbor 210 

Ragusa . . . .View from Mt. Sergio 228 

Onofrio's Famous Fountain . . . . 238 ■ 
San Salvatore, Votive Church . . . . 240 ,, 
Venetian Gothic Doorway of Fran- 
ciscan Church 24o v 

Cloister Garden of Franciscan Church 244 
Loggia, and seats "Sotto i volti" . . 244 
Sponza, Clock-tower and Palace . . 258 v 
Porta Plocce and St. Biagio . . . . 274 
Piazza, Antique Standard and Clock- 
tower 274 , 

Ancient Well in Dominican Cloister . . 278 
Inner Court of Rector's Palace . . . . 298 
Mighty Crags and Medieval Fortifica- 
tions 306 

Ancient Harbor and Island of La- 

croma 306 

Perasto . . . . City from the East 322 

My Girl and her Father 322 , 

Cattaro .. ..Broad Marina and Fortifications on 

Mt. Lovc'en 330 ; 

Road, well called "The Ladder of 

Cattaro" 334 

Dalmatian Group 340 

Market on the Marina 340 / 



Till 



FOREWORD 

In this little story of a summer voyage down the 
Adriatic, I have endeavored to incorporate with my 
own impressions of the land and its people many of 
the quaint tales and mythical happenings which are 
largely a matter of belief throughout Dalmatia. Many 
of these marvelous legends are seriously narrated by 
ancient historians, but, unfortunately, their manu- 
scripts were written in medieval Latin, and few 
translations have been made. The first account 
written in English of this new Mecca for those who 
delight in "green fields and pastures new" out of the 
beaten track of travel, was from the pen of Sir John 
Gardner Wilkinson, who published his "Dalmatia and 
Montenegro, with a journey to Mostar," in two vol- 
umes, in 1848. It was followed, in 1887, by one 
written by an eminent English architect, Mr. T. G. 
Jackson, "Dalmatia, the Quarnero, and Istria," in three 
volumes. At a much later date Miss Maud M. Hol- 
bach's charming book, "Dalmatia, the Land where 
East meets West," was published. 

I wish to express my indebtedness, also, to Mr. F. 
Hamilton Jackson, R.B.A. (an Englishman, and an 
architect, artist, and writer, like the other Mr. Jack- 
son), for the pleasure and profit derived from his 
splendid work, "The Shores of the Adriatic — Austrian 



FOREWORD 

Side." Signore Luigi Villari's "Republic of Ragusa," 
and Herr Neimann's "Der Palast Diocletians," were 
both found exceedingly entertaining, while quotations 
from the ancient manuscripts of De Diversis, Celio 
Cega, Giovanni Lucio and others added a new zest to 
my appreciation of this unique country. 

If one is not too old for romance, Dalmatia's little 
cities, their old churches, and countless ancient treas- 
ures, will afford unbounded pleasure. While few may 
be able to take the actual trip this year, or even next, 
still all who have a taste for reading may "go to the 
uttermost ends of the earth." Nor do we need to 
await a chance to wish upon the Grand Vizier's Magic 
Carpet — since to-day we may go as quickly by utiliz- 
ing the printer's magic "stick." 

So all should go, ready to find happiness in every- 
thing ! Young and joyous, we may leave behind every 
carking care, while we revel in marvelous tales of good 
kings, and wicked queens, weird vampires and storm- 
demons, mystic spells and miraculous happenings, such 
as we children loved to hear, as we clustered round 
daddy's knee in the twilight — tales like those which 
Hans Andersen and dear old Grimm gave to the world, 
tales enshrined forever in that, "holy of holies," the 
heart of a child — that joyous little creature whom we 
remember smilingly, but with a pang of regret, that 
vanished "Child of Yesterday," who was I; and the 
child who was — YOU. 



FOREWORD 

Come! Let us go to Dalmatia. It is summer 
time, the sky is serene, the breeze soft, and the water 
blue. Let us revel together in the romantic stories 
written upon the ancient walls and frowning bastions ; 
the hoary cathedrals and stately palace's; by that 
greatest of all historians, "Old Father Time." 

Alice Lee Moque 
Washington, D. C, 
August, 19 1 4. 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 



THE START, AND ROVIGNO OUR FIRST PORT 

One night last winter as John and I were walking 
home, he suddenly remarked : 

"When we were told that the next lecture would be 
on Dalmatia, did you hear that lady behind you say, 
'Dalmatia? Where is it? I never heard of it.' ' 

"Yes. There are plenty of women like that!" I 
remarked emphatically, and with perfect truth. For 
I was trying my very best to remember where on 
earth it was — and most unsuccessfully. 

"We will hear the lecture, and if we think we would 
enjoy Dalmatia we will go there this summer, on our 
wedding tour," John said decisively. And so it hap- 
pened that our trip down the eastern shore of the 
Adriatic was hit upon. But, maybe I should explain 
at once that while it was "a wedding tour," this hap- 
pened to be our ninth — for we take one every year. 

On a starry July night, but one of the darkest I 
ever remember, we left our hotel in Venice to take 
the Trieste steamer which lies unnoticed just off the 
Piazzetta — a modest connecting link in the golden 
chain which joins Venice, the famous pearl of the 
Adriatic, with the almost unknown chaplet of smaller 

15 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

gems which extend down the coast in a long, waving 
line from Trieste to Cattaro. 

The Piazza was aglow with lights, and the band 
still playing, as we turned our backs on Venice with 
a sigh of regret. 

Knowing that our boat, the Metcovitch, did not 
sail till midnight, we hired our gondola al ora, as 
usual ; for every moment was precious and we wanted 
to spend our last hours on the Grand Canal listening to 
the music. But Ludovico, formerly a most obliging 
gondolier, on seeing our suitcases realized that we 
were about to take our departure, and was no longer 
anxious to please us. 

On previous occasions our meager Italian vocabu- 
lary had been perfectly comprehensible, but now, not 
a word could he be made to understand. When we 
reached the group of swaying gondolas, their tiny, 
twinkling lamps looking like a band of fireflies clus- 
tered round the bright lanterns of the music barge, 
Ludovico shot his boat right past, in spite of all our 
protestations. 

John — the most patient of men, as well as the best 
of traveling companions — explained over and over 
again, in his very best Italian, that we wished to re- 
main for a while listening to the music. He reminded 
the boatman that we had hired him "by the hour," but 
all in vain. The obstinate fellow only rowed us the 
more quickly into the darkness, and, willy-nilly, we 

16 



THE START, AND ROVIGNO OUR FIRST PORT 

soon found ourselves at the steamer. There was noth- 
ing to do, therefore, but to tell the stubborn fellow 
what we thought of him — and to try to make the 
best of our discomfiture. 

We could not understand what had changed Ludo- 
vico, but were soon to know. 

When we came up to the side of the Metcovitch, 
which towered above us in the darkness, the water was 
so rough and the night so black, Ludovico had hard 
work to catch and hold the rope of the gangway steps. 
More than once it was torn from his hands and the 
gondola in danger of upsetting. We didn't care for a 
bath, but the man had become so obstinate and dis- 
agreeable we wouldn't have minded a particle if he had 
gotten a good ducking, as appeared for a while highly 
probable. 

When the time came to pay him, his demands 
seemed quite exorbitant. We let him bluster until we 
had ascertained that he could ask the amount he 
claimed, on account of the suitcases. Now we could 
readily understand the gondolier's conduct. He knew 
he could demand as much for taking us and our bag- 
gage to the steamer as he could earn "by the hour," 
so he was determined to get rid of us as quickly as 
possible. 

Notwithstanding the man's behavior, he had the 
insolence to ask for a tip, but John refused him a 
single soldo. So, Ludovico made nothing by his irn- 

17 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

pudence; for we had planned to give him a generous 
gratuity as a parting gift. 

Feeling highly incensed at being cheated out of 
our last delightful hour on the Grand Canal, and still 
discussing Ludovico and his bluster, we suddenly be- 
came conscious of a noisy war of words. 

Leaning far over the rail we peered below into 
the darkness, and saw that another gondola, full of 
passengers and their baggage, had tied up to the 
gangway. From the volume of sound we judged 
that the gentlemen of the party all possest a fluent 
command of Italian. Above the pounding of the 
waves rose their imprecations, mingled with the 
shouts of the gondoliers and the angry protestations 
of the entire party, all talking at once. It was our 
own experience repeated, but with the added vigor of 
fluent abuse, and the rapid exchange of heated com- 
pliments usual between Italians in a wordy war. 

It was not only interesting but exciting. Every 
moment we thought certainly some one would be 
knocked off the swaying steps, which were as 
steep and narrow as a Holland staircase, and which 
lurched horribly. But an officer of the Metcovitch, 
hearing the din, appeared upon the scene and acted 
the part of peacemaker — much to my disappointment. 
With a few last protests the boatmen took the fare 
tendered them. Just as they let go the rope their boat 
was almost swamped by a huge swell, and the very 

18 



THE START, AND ROVIGNO OUR FIRST PORT 

next moment it required all their skill to get out of 
the way of two heavily laden gondolas which sud- 
denly loomed up out of the darkness. 

Much to our amusement, the occupants of both 
these boats in turn had a repetition of the dispute 
with their gondoliers. 

Like two children, we leaned over the deck-rail 
listening with all our ears to the heated controversy, 
hugely enjoying the commotion. In our joy at each 
new combatant who entered the battle of tongues, we 
both completely forgot our own recently ruffled 
feelings. 

But at last peace was restored. The night air was 
almost chill and the breeze fresh. Out of the black- 
ness of the night over the water was borne to us, by 
the wind, the exquisite melody of Schubert's "Sere- 
nade," sung by a fine baritone voice. Santa Lucia, 
Jammo, Ciribiribin, and other old, old favorites 
followed one another; songs we had heard here eight 
years ago, but songs which, to the Venetians at least, 
seem never to grow stale. 

As we looked toward the distant shore to say 
good-by, the red lamps which had shone out from the 
arches high up on the campanile were suddenly ex- 
tinguished. The next moment the glow of the elec- 
tric lights in the Piazza below faded away; others 
followed, until all were gone, and the city was 
blotted out by the night. 

19 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

The singers on the music barge had sung "A 
Tripoli," their popular new cavatina, for their last 
song. We caught the dim outline of their boat being 
rowed toward the shore, as the swaying lanterns were 
snuffed out, one by one, by unseen hands. There 
was a rattle of chains, and the sudden commotion on 
board consequent upon getting under way. Almost 
before we realized it, the Metcovitch was in motion; 
the silhouette of the Doge's Palace, and even the dark 
outline of the tall campanile were gone — all Venice 
had vanished, swallowed up in the darkness. 

Our good ship soon left the dim contour of the 
sandy banks of the Lido behind her, and began 
breasting the waves of the Adriatic. 

The only memory I have of the Metcovitch is of 
a comfortable cabin and a good night's rest. There 
were quite a number of passengers on board who 
had taken no berth, we discovered. When we saw 
the group who had settled themselves for the night 
just outside our cabin door, I confess I feared we 
would be kept awake by their chatter. But either 
they were less talkative than members of the Latin 
race usually are, or I slept more soundly than usual, 
for I knew nothing until we docked at Trieste in the 
morning. 

On account of head winds the steamer got in 
a little late. So we found we had no more time than 
we required to go to the Austrian Lloyd Palace, 

20 



THE START, AND ROVIGNO OUR FIRST PORT 

present our order for tickets, have them made out. and 
get ourselves and our baggage over to the Brioni's 
dock. 

Right here, it may be as well to relate the history 
of a box we had with us. It was only a small box, 
but it occasioned us an amount of expense and trouble 
out of all proportion to its size. 

Some years ago, when last in Venice, I had seen a 
charming little mirror I wanted, but failed to get. 
Nothing daunted, however, by my past defeat, on 
seeing again the carved-wood dragon holding up 
alluringly the mirror, I determined to have it. I saw 
at a glance that it was several sizes larger than the 
one I had originally desired; but, I was larger, too, 
and my ideas also had increased proportionately in 
the years which had elapsed since I first coveted it. 
So I wisely made no comment. Men always claim 
that we women talk too much, and I believe it. 

John said he didn't intend to buy it. He protested 
it was too expensive and would be a bother to get 
home; but all the while, of course, he knew perfectly 
well he was going to get it for me — as he ultimately 
did. 

When my precious dragon arrived at our hotel it 
had been neatly "boxed, ready for shipment," as we 
had ordered. But my companion, having a frugal 
mind, thought it a pity to lose so much space. So 
he carefully pried off the top boards, and removed 

21 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

every particle of excelsior he dared from around the 
mirror, and proceeded to stuff the space with mosaics, 
postcards, and everything he could lay his hands on. 

I protested in vain. Not a single article escaped 
being added to the collection tightly wedged around 
the dismembered dragon and glass, until the poor 
little box was filled to overflowing. It was with the 
greatest difficulty he could nail back the lid, using my 
new Rigi-Culm hair-brush as a hammer. 

Every time my eye caught sight of that box with 
its bulging sides, I thought of all it contained, and of 
my desecrated hair-brush. I knew it would burst 
open in transit, and told John so. He, after having 
run a splinter in his foot, early one morning, and 
having had the box fall on his toes, late that night, 
resolved to ship it home without further delay. He 
said he was "tired of seeing it sitting 'round." 

Cording it up with stout twine to keep it from 
breaking open, as he frankly admitted, he carried the 
box away to send off by express. I breathed a sigh 
of relief to see it go. I hated the sight of it; for 
every time I wanted to buy anything, I was reminded 
of what the mirror had cost, and was given a dis- 
sertation on extravagance. 

However, before I had gotten over my satisfaction 
at seeing the last of it, back John came — bringing 
the box with him. At the express office he had 
learned that nothing could be sent out of Italy with- 

22 



THE START, AND ROVIGNO OUR FIRST PORT 

out a permit — a law, new to us, which had been 
passed to prevent wealthy tourists, of the J. P. 
Morgan type, from buying up anticos and shipping 
them out of the country. 

John, in desperation, had explained, in vain, that 
the box contained only one small mirror, some post- 
cards, and inexpensive souvenirs. The fact remained 
that it could not be sent without a permit from the 
authorities. As it was then Saturday afternoon, and 
no permit could be obtained until Monday morning, 
at earliest, there was nothing to do but to carry it 
with us, for we sailed at midnight Sunday. We de- 
termined to get rid of it at Trieste, our first Austrian 
port. 

From first to last fate seemed against that wretched 
little box! We could not send it from Venice, and 
getting into dock behind time we had no opportunity 
to ship it from Trieste. Not daring to trust it to the 
tender mercies of the Dienstmann, John had to carry 
it himself. It bumped into him constantly; a pro- 
truding nail tore a jagged rent in his trousers; if I 
came near him a corner jabbed me viciously; and at 
every step it grew heavier, and harder to carry. We 
both were sincerely thankful when it was deposited, 
at last, on the floor of our cabin on the Brioni — altho 
we found out at once we would have to climb over it 
every time we opened the door. 

"We'll get rid of it at the first place we can ship 

23 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

it home!" John emphatically declared every time he 
encountered it. He longed to kick it out of the way, 
I know, but he didn't dare, for that box looked 
ready, at the slightest excuse, to go to pieces, and 
would have been only too willing to scatter its con- 
tents all over the cabin. We both loathed the sight 
of it, but were forced to treat it civilly for fear of 
consequences. 

The morning we sailed from Trieste was perfect. 
Whether the Adriatic is always so benign, I can not 
say, but the sea was as calm as a river. And from 
first to last, in all our weeks of voyaging, the skies 
above us were the bluest of the blue, and the water 
as unruffled and tranquil as an inland lake. Not a 
drop of rain, nor a dark cloud, marred the beauty of 
our trip down the whole length of the Adriatic from 
Trieste to the Island of Corfu. The sea was so 
calm, and there was so little motion, not a soul was 
seasick or even imagined it. 

In the late fall, winter, and early spring, it is said, 
there are often tempestuous seas. The Dalmatian 
coast, with its innumerable rocks and multitude of 
scattered islands, necessitates the most careful naviga- 
tion. But in the summer, judging from our ex- 
perience, the sea voyage is delightful. 

There is a striking resemblance between all of the 
Adriatic steamers, we discovered. Wishing to stop 
over at many places much longer than the boats re- 

24 



THE START, AND ROVIGNO OUR FIRST PORT 

mained, we simply stayed as long as we pleased, and 
left on whatever steamer happened to be most con- 
venient. On our Adriatic trip, which extended down 
to Corfu — which is really on the Ionian Sea, or Strait 
of Otranto rather than the Adriatic — we took in all 
six steamers, and we found them, without exception, 
quite satisfactory. Only the most unreasonable 
traveler could find fault with the accommodations 
afforded, and the menus provided at each course of 
the three meals a day were uniformly excellent. The 
rich red wine, called "Apollo," which we enjoyed 
with our dinner, was grown on the Dalmatian shores. 
We were told that it has been sold all over Europe 
labelled "Bordeaux," ever since the French vineyards 
failed to yield the necessary supply. It was certainly 
not only delicious, but reasonable as well. A litre 
bottle only cost us the equivalent of twelve cents in 
our money. 

We found that we were the only Americans on 
board, and soon discovered that none of our fellow 
passengers could speak more than a few words of 
English. 

One young fellow, whom we had noticed diligently 
studying his Baedeker, we surmised at once was the 
regulation German tourist, for his sturdy legs were 
encased in brown woolen stockings, with gorgeous red 
and yellow plaid tops; his shoes were of the moun- 
tain-climber's variety; and upon his head he wore a 

25 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

green felt Alpine hat. Before the gangplank was laid, 
he jumped ashore and dashed away toward the heights 
of the town of Rovigno, the first Adriatic port. 

Like many other Dalmatian towns, Rovigno is 
principally built upon the hills, on account of the 
prevalence of malaria during the fall and early spring 
along the lowlands. It is what is known throughout 
Italy, and in Dalmatia as well, as a "hill town." And 
that it was a hill town I, myself, could positively as- 
sert, as soon as I endeavored to visit it. 

Besides the remnants of its ancient walls, Rovigno 
boasts, near the fish market, the remains of an old 
Roman arch. Above it still stands on guard the 
Lion of St. Mark with his book, on which can be 
read the ancient inscription : "Victoria tibi Marce 
Evangelista mens." But alas, the old Venice has 
passed away! To-day only a few crumbling walls — 
the remnants of once splendid gateways — and the 
pathetic figure of the once victorious, all-powerful 
lion, alone remain in Dalmatia, dim and defaced re- 
minders of Venice, and the glories of her vanished 
empire. 

There is an old tower left of what was once the 
city wall. We were informed that it has been in its 
present ruinous condition for more than four hun- 
dred years, which certainly speaks well for its ability 
to resist time and the elements. 

There are many things of interest in Rovigno, but 

26 



THE START, AND ROVIGNO OUR FIRST PORT 

the little Renaissance church with its graceful 
campanile, on the summit of the mountain above the 
town, easily ranks first. At a glance it is seen that 
the tower with its golden angel is almost an exact 
copy of the campanile in Venice; only this angel is 
Saint Eufemia, the little town's patron saint. 

In the church, to the right of the altar, is a small 
chapel, in which stands her tomb, a huge marble 
sarcophagus. The carvings on it are crude, and show 
that they have never been completed. It has a pointed 
top, and on each of the four corners are blocks 
crudely rounded, looking as if they still awaited the 
long-departed sculptor's finishing touch. 

But much more interesting than the church and the 
tomb is the history of the famous lady whose mar- 
velous experiences are plainly depicted upon the walls 

of the chapel. 

It seems that one stormy night two pious fishermen, 
having lost both sail and oars, called upon heaven for 
aid, when about to be engulfed by the waves. Pray- 
ing fervently on their knees, on opening their eyes 
they discovered that their boat had reached in safety 
a small cove or inlet on the shore near Rovigno. The 
storm had passed, and before their astonished eyes 
they saw a beautiful white light shining above a dark 
object which floated in the water. As they looked, the 
object sank from sight, but the light continued to 
hover over the spot where it had disappeared. 

27 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

Full of awe, the fishermen made haste to run to the 
town and tell their wonderful story. For several 
days many willing hands endeavored to assist them 
in raising the object, which was discovered to be a 
great stone. But all efforts were quite without avail. 
It was so heavy it could not be raised an inch. 

In Rovigno, at the time, dwelt a pious widow. She 
grieved much to think that the gift so miraculously 
sent from heaven must be lost to the town. One 
night she had a vivid dream. In the morning she 
called her little son and bade him hitch up the oxen 
and drive them down the mountain, telling him to 
fasten the beasts to the great stone. The child 
obeyed. Instantly, the oxen easily lifted the sar- 
cophagus and ran quickly with it up the mountain; 
never stopping until they reached the very top. 

A wicked man, who had scoffed openly at the 
tale of the fishermen, happened to be standing close 
by the roadside as the sacred relic passed and at the 
marvelous sight he fell like one dead, and remained 
long unconscious. On recovering his senses he 
humbly related a vision he had had. He told, with 
solemn awe, how Saint Eufemia herself had ap- 
peared to him, and informed him that her bones and 
the history of her martyrdom would be found in the 
sarcophagus. An immediate examination of the tomb 
was made, and the man's assertion proved to be true. 

From that day to this the place has been known as 

28 



THE START, AND ROVIGNO OUR FIRST PORT 

the "Hill of St. Eufemia," and she revered as the 
Rovignian patron saint. Should any skeptical person 
still doubt the authenticity of the miraculous hap- 
penings, the incontrovertible proof is close at hand. 
For in the little cove, where the tomb of the saint 
originally rested, is a square, stone shaft which marks 
the exact spot; as the ancient inscription on a plate 
attached to the stone duly records. 

Indeed, so precious were the sacred relics that the 
Genoese came from over the sea and stole them. The 
Venetians took them from the marauders, but, in- 
stead of returning the tomb to its rightful owners, 
placed it in their own little church of San Casciano, 
where the bones of the good lady peacefully rested 
for many years. Finally, however, the Venetians, 
early in the fourteenth century, seemed to have ex- 
perienced a change of heart, for they decided to re- 
turn to Rovigno the stolen relics. Again a terrible 
storm arose; the wind and waves dashed the ship 
into the midst of a number of fishing-boats which 
had sought shelter from the storm in the harbor. We 
are told that: "Instantly the cattle leaped over into 
the sea, and the waves became calm, as the animals 
paid reverence to the saint by dancing on the water 
round the ship." 

The weird story, from first to last, is firmly be- 
lieved by the good people of Rovigno. They can 
afford to treat with contempt the incredulity of those 

29 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

who may scoff, for the town has in its archives an 
ancient manuscript, in which every detail of the his- 
tory of St. Eufemia is duly set forth, in black and 
white, as they well know. 

All Dalmatia is full of just such delightfully im- 
probable legends, as is Venice, and, in fact, all Italy, 
as well — legends, which are plainly ancient fairy- 
tales, but which are most implicitly believed to be 
fact by the majority of the country folk. Tales of 
miraculous happenings, so naive, so preposterous, they 
charm us with their ingenuousness. Their medieval 
flavor is delicious in this prosaic, practical twentieth 
century. One must know these ancient legends and 
revel in them, to really know and fully enjoy Dal- 
matia. 

The marvelous history of the good saint of Rovigno 
fascinated and delighted me; adding greatly to my 
pleasure — just as the faint perfume of dried lavender 
enhances the charm of rare old lace yellowing with 
age. Not for the world would I have doubted a 
single word. Taking a flower, which I had worn at 
my breast, I solemnly and reverently laid it on the 
tomb — a pure white rose, which had bloomed but 
yesterday in an old Venetian garden. 

We were assured most earnestly that the ancient 
Rovigno had extended across the bay to Point Bar- 
barica where the lighthouse stands; and were told 
that on fair days one might see the roofs and spires 

30 



THE START, AND ROVIGNO OUR FIRST PORT 

of the tall buildings quite plainly beneath the water. 
But, unfortunately, a lack of time prevented us from 
authenticating the fact upon the spot. 

We should have been glad to linger in the old 
graveyard, just below the church, from which the 
view is magnificent, but three long blasts from the 
steamer warned us not to tarry. So, regretfully we 
made our way back through the narrow little streets, 
crowded in between the fishermen's cottages, and 
down the crazy, zigzag steps. Through a sudden 
vista we caught sight of the sturdy young man with 
the gorgeous hose — whom we had nicknamed "Gambe" 
(Legs), springing along the shore far below. He 
had the same springy gait, and looked as fresh as 
the daisies he had stuck jauntily in his alpine hat. 
We learned later that he had "seen the town, and 
had had plenty of time to spare," as he himself 
exprest it. 

We were warm and tired, and out of breath from 
our exertions. We had to admit to ourselves that, 
altho we had worked hard, we had seen but a small 
part of the sights. But, as I looked back over the 
bay, my eyes rested on the slender campanile which 
rose above the little houses clustered on the hill, and 
on the golden angel, standing on the summit, with 
her outstretched wings glittering in the sun. And 
I smiled as I watched her — until she passed from my 
sight. 

3i 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

"The way up was a little hard, and the steps were 
narrow and dirty; but you liked Rovigno, didn't 
you?" John asked, having seen my smile. 

I thought of the little church of St. Eufemia, and 
the rose. 

"It was perfect!" I answered softly, with a sigh of 
supreme content. 



32 



II 

POLA, THE QUARNERO, AND THE TWO 
LUSSINS 

"Good health, good company, and good weather," 
some one has truly said, "are necessary ingredients to 
insure the success of a journey." Fortunately, we 
enjoyed all three from the moment of starting from 
Venice until we arrived at our journey's end. 

Of all the pleasure afforded by the voyage down the 
Adriatic the greatest we found to be the meeting 
with so many charming people of different nationali- 
ties. In America we are all Americans, by birth or 
naturalization, and our cities, from Maine to Florida, 
and from the Atlantic to the Pacific, are all more or 
less alike. Our cities may be large or small — great 
metropolises of vast wealth and population, or small 
country towns with little of either — but all are dis- 
tinctly American ; with the same sort of architecture, 
same language, same people, and the same strongly 
marked national characteristics. 

Consequently the amusing novelty of finding our- 
selves among a group of foreigners speaking a num- 
ber of different tongues, and in appearance, dress, 

33 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

and temperament quite unlike our own people, we 
found particularly entertaining. 

My diary, dated "July 8 — On the Brioni," says : 

"Day perfect! Have nice cabin, shore side; table 
excellent — light 'English breakfast,' 'five-course din- 
ner,' good supper. Captain and officers very agree- 
able. Boat full of people, from everywhere, speaking 
everything — but English. Lots of fun trying to talk. 
Our French and German very poor — no worse than 

their English. J— really begins to speak Italian — 

when he has to say something. Everybody helps out 
with a word — Austrian, Slav, Italian, or whatever 
their language happens to be. Hugely enjoy our- 
selves at table. Pretend to understand what's said to 
us whether we do or not. At dinner Captain asked: 
'Why come you to Dalmatia?' Tried in vain to tell 
about the lecture. 'Who is he — this Lychtur?' 
No one could tell him. Word went all round table — 
heads shaken dolefully. 'Lecture — illustrated lec- 
ture,' I explained carefully. 'Illustre, pittora, image, 
rappresentare.' Faces still troubled. 'Kinemato- 
graph,' I added — having inspiration. Result in- 
stantaneous. 'Cinema!' shouted the captain. 'Ya, 
ya, Cinema!' echoed the first officer exultantly. 'Si, 
si !' 'Oui, oui !' 'J ah, jah !' ran down the table like 
fire-crackers in barrel. Joy reigned, all laughed, 
faces glowed. Captain in glee patted my hand. 'Cine- 

34 



POLA, THE QUARNERO AND TWO LUSSINS 

ma! Cinema!' he cried triumphantly; now beaming 
with happiness to have the key to what I had tried 
to say. 

"Everyone smiled at me and nodded approvingly. 
Even handsome old Austrian field-marshal and prim 
little spouse (sit opposite us, captain's right — we on 
left). From Vienna, haven't heard name. Call them 
'Robin and Jenny.' He wears light blue coat — two 
rows gold buttons, high collar and cuffs, gold braid; 
five gorgeous be-ribboned decorations on breast. 
Trousers pearl gray, skin tight. He's about fifty-five, 
fine physique, iron-gray hair, imperial, long mus- 
tache. Pleasant, courteous. Named him all right! 
He's 'a bird !' Fine one, too. Hear he thought John 
French (evidently he doesn't know language, or 
hasn't heard J. try to speak it!)." 

Before we imagined it time for the next port, we 
were making our way between Cape Compare and 
Monte Grosso, and the splendid harbor of Pola was 
in sight. The entrance to the harbor is strongly 
fortified by modern round-towers, and being situated 
at the bottom of a miniature bay, almost land-locked 
by a number of small green islands, and boasting 
sufficient space and depth to accommodate the largest 
ships, the basin affords ideal security. The approach 
is through the narrow and winding Porto delle Rose 
channel, which can be easily protected by torpedoes in 

35 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

time of war. Extensive fortifications, detached forts 
and innumerable batteries, erected upon the heights, 
make Pola almost invulnerable, and have caused her 
to be known as "the Austrian Sebastopol." 

The arsenal is a modern building, and the docks, 
as well, have not long been completed. It was in- 
teresting to us to learn that the latter are the work of 
an American engineer, named Gilbert. They have an 
ingenious contrivance by which vessels are raised into 
the slips by hydraulic machinery. 

Looking at Pola, to-day, with her modern fortifica- 
tions, big arsenal, and spacious docks, her pretty 
public park, and fine museum, one might forget her 
ancient glory, were it not for the magnificent remains 
of a wonderful amphitheater. Sir Humphry Davy, 
writing of it many years ago, said : 

"We entered the harbor in a felucca as the sun was 
setting. I know of no scene more splendid than the 
amphitheater seen from the sea in this light. It ap- 
pears not as a building in ruins, but like a newly 
erected work; and the reflection of the colors of its 
brilliant marbles and beautiful form seen upon the 
calm surface of the waters gave to it a double effect — 
that of a glorious production of art, and a magnificent 
picture." 

It was built in the last years of the first century, 
and in the first years of the second, in honor of the 
Emperor Septimus Severus, and of his son Caracalla. 

36 




< H 

^ s 

O E 
< 



POLA, THE QUARNERO AND TWO LUSSINS 

We all recall Caracalla — from the well-remembered 
story of him in our school history, telling how he 
got his name from the hooded cloak he wore. He 
afterward played the part of Cain, and slew his 
brother, Geta, who was joint-emperor with him, that 
he might reign alone, I remember. 

Even to-day Pola's ancient amphitheater is a mag- 
nificent example of Roman architecture. Its majestic 
exterior is remarkably well preserved ; but, unfor- 
tunately, the interior is stript and bare. All the tiers 
of seats have disappeared, and the central space form- 
ing the arena is grass-grown and full of brambles, 
with an accumulation of debris due to centuries of 
neglect. 

It is built on the side of a hill. One side is three 
stories high, but the hill side is shorter. It has 
seventy-two arches, and, except in size, is similar to 
the Colosseum at Rome, of which it at once reminds 
you. 

Quite a party from the steamer climbed the hill 
together to see the amphitheater, and once again 
Gambe, unconsciously, acted as guide. He alone of 
us all knew the history of the hippodrome, and of 
everything else worth seeing in Pola. Our only re- 
gret was that he didn't speak more than a few words 
of English, for we had much trouble to understand 
his German, which he spoke very rapidly. 

Nothing could be finer than the view of the harbor 

37 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

and the tranquil blue sea beyond, which we caught 
through the ancient arches of Istrian stone. Below 
the amphitheater is a kind of park, with thrifty look- 
ing boxwood shrubs, a few palm trees, and a single 
tall and slender cypress. In a paved circle in the 
center stands a modern bronze statue of the "Im- 
peratrice Elisabeth" on a white marble pedestal. I 
wished that the city fathers had chosen another spot 
for their effigy of the lady whose memory they de- 
sired to honor, for the monument is decidedly in- 
congruous where it is; being out of keeping in its 
newness and unimportance with the immense an- 
tiquity and grandeur of its near neighbor. 

Dante mentions Pola as being near the Quarnero, 
which is a gulf about ten miles down the shore — 
"Sicome a Pola, presso del Quarnero." But the 
ancient city goes back to the Colchians; and is sup- 
posed to have been founded by them when they 
were in the pursuit of Jason, who had stolen the 
golden fleece ! Certainly an ancient enough pedigree 
to satisfy any one. It is known that it was destroyed 
by Caesar, because it sided with Pompey against him. 
It was built again by the Emperor Augustus, it is 
said, at the request of his daughter Julia, for whom it 
was named "Pietas Julia." 

In the ancient city in those days, apparently, stout 
people were no more fashionable than they are to-day. 
Either there were no fat men and plump ladies, or 

38 





POLA 

INTERIOR OF THE AMPHITHEATER 
PORTA GEMINA 



POLA, THE QUARNERO AND TWO LUSSINS 

they did not attend the popular entertainments given 
in the amphitheater. Marble slabs which once formed 
the tiers of seats have been unearthed, and lines of 
division upon them show that the exact space allotted 
to each person was fourteen and one-half inches ! 
Some patrons of the hippodrome, too, must have had 
season tickets; for the seats reserved for their use 
still show the initials of their long- forgotten names 
carved upon the stone. Great names, no doubt, in 
those long-vanished years — when the amphitheater 
was new and the power of Rome supreme. 

There were seats for eighteen thousand spectators 
and standing-room for several thousand more. Two 
towers toward the sea, and two toward the hill are 
supposed to have contained stairways by which to 
reach the upper stories. Mr. T. G. Jackson, the 
architect (an authority on antiquities and famous for 
his splendid work on Dalmatia), believes they were 
too small to have been used by the audience. He 
suggests that they "may have served for the attendants 
who had the management of the awning," and adds 
that "the sockets and channels for the masts of the 
'velum' (or awning) are perfectly preserved," just 
below the stone balustrade around the top of the 
wall. 

Having duly admired the amphitheater, Gambe pro- 
posed that we all should go to see the Arch of the 
Sergii, which, he explained, was "south of the market- 

39 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

place." As none of us had the slightest notion where 
that might be, we followed closely at his heels. 

Going down a steep street he triumphantly pointed 
out the landmark, which we never would have recog- 
nized, and going up a cross-street the site of the van- 
ished Porta Aurea, and the arch itself were duly dis- 
covered. No doubt, the triumphal arch was once 
imposing, but what imprest me most was the fact that 
it was erected by a woman — Salvia Postuma by name. 
There is an inscription which says : "Salvia Postvma 
sergi de sva Pecvnia." 

Salvia had it built to honor her husband, Lucius 
Sergius, and his father, Lucius Sergius, Sr., and still 
another Sergius, Cnseus Sergius, her husband's uncle, 
after their return from a victorious campaign. Be- 
neath the arch we saw where the ancient pavement 
had been uncovered. Ruts worn in the stones by 
chariot wheels are plainly visible, as in the streets of 
Pompeii. 

Far more interesting than the memorial is the 
glimpse we get of the character of Salvia herself. 
Her frugality and practical economy are made evi- 
dent. Discovering that only a portion of the "coupled 
Corinthian columns" of her arch would show (owing 
to the close proximity of one of the city gates), she 
determined to waste no money on carvings which 
would not be seen. Consequently the flutings on the 
pillars go only a third of the way round. The 

40 



POLA, THE QUARNERO AND TWO LUSSINS 

capitals, and attic moldings, as well, are left rough, 
except where exposed to view. But, if Salvia saved 
an honest penny where she could, she made up for it 
by lavish decorations elsewhere. Festoons and orna- 
ments, chariot races and victorious warriors abound. 
Three pedestals still remain upon which, no doubt, 
once stood statues of the trio of heroes. 

More recent explorations have disclosed still 
another gateway, the Porta Gemina. It has two 
well-preserved arches, but they are spoiled artistically 
by being incongruously closed with iron gates. Not 
far away is an arch which was discovered built into 
the city wall. It is believed to have been dedicated 
to Hercules, as a large head and the fragments of 
a huge club have been found. John, however, 
wickedly suggested that maybe it wasn't Hercules at 
all, for "there were others" who not only had a big 
head, but "a big stick." Naturally, no one in the 
party except me appreciated so distinctly an Ameri- 
can joke. 

As it was very warm in the sun, we decided to go 
back to our shady deck-chairs on the Brioni, after 
paying a visit to the famous Temple of Augustus in 
the center of the town. Unfortunately, the effect of 
the temple, with its lovely Corinthian columns, is 
marred by being hemmed in by the modern build- 
ings, which completely surround it. This shrine was 
erected during the Emperor's life by his Illyrian 

4i 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

admirers. It is related that Augustus modestly re- 
fused to permit the dedication, unless the word 
"Rome" was added. The interior, unfortunately, is 
filled to overflowing with a conglomeration of sculp- 
tures of all kinds, huddled together promiscuously 
for lack of space ; which prevents them being properly 
studied, or even appreciated. 

My one regret was that photographing was for- 
bidden at Pola, on account of the numerous forts. 
I dared not even point my camera at the splendid old 
amphitheater much as I wanted to take a view of 
my own. On the Brioni — and on the other boats as 
well — a lengthy notice was posted on walls and 
doors, sternly warning passengers, in seven lan- 
guages, that "The taking of photographs of the 
shore where there are fortifications is strictly pro- 
hibited!" As. there was no portion of the shore 
worth photographing which did not contain a fortifi- 
cation of some kind, either ancient or modern, the 
field for the camera was decidedly limited. But, 
sometimes, I confess, I just couldn't see the fort in 
time; and at others I quite forgot that lengthy 
notice until after I had secured the coveted view. 
But one day I had an experience I did not soon 
forget. 

One morning, seeing a chance for a fine "snap- 
shot," I determined to get it, in spite of the absurd 
little dinky fort I saw perched on the top of the hill. 

42 




POLA 

TEMPLE OF AUGUSTUS 



POLA, THE QUARNERO AND TWO LUSSINS 

As an American I cared nothing about the in- 
terminable "Balkan question." In fact we had 
frankly assured one of the officers that, so far as our 
country was concerned, we had now all the foreign 
possessions we desired — and more, too! Conse- 
quently, the United States was utterly indifferent to 
the outcome of the European imbroglio; she cared 
nothing, nor did her citizens, whether there was one 
gun or a hundred in the Austrian fortresses along 
the Dalmatian shore. Desiring to take my view — but 
not wanting to get into any trouble — I glanced 
around, to make sure that "the coast was clear." 
The field-marshal and John were having a smoke, 
and our good friends, the jovial captain and his two 
agreeable officers, were, fortunately, not one of them 
on deck. So hastily slipping down to our cabin I 
got the camera, hastened back, and took the picture 
just as quickly as I could. 

The next moment I felt a tap upon my shoulder. 
I know I started as guiltily as any nihilist who had 
been caught in the act. Turning, I looked into the 
serious face of our fat, and usually jolly purser. He 
could speak no English, so he said not a word. But 
he very politely called my attention to the notice 
prominently posted upon the door behind me, point- 
ing his fat finger unerringly to the paragraphs 
in English which he knew I could read, if he 
couldn't. 

43 



DELIGHTFUL UALMATIA 

"Why! was this part of the shore forbidden to 
photograph?" I inquired with pretended surprize. 
But when I looked into his somber eyes, usually 
brimming with fun, I realized that the man was an 
Austrian and a patriot. I was ashamed of my at- 
tempt at dissimulation, and took no more pictures 
without getting permission. But if we could take 
few snap-shots we could buy postcards almost every- 
where, altho, naturally, no fortifications were shown 
unless they were very far away, or of the class 
known as anticos. 

Lussin-piccolo, a charming little place, was our 
next stop. The island of Lussin is connected with 
the near-by island of Cherso by a turning bridge 
which crosses the channel. Nothing could be more 
picturesque than the view of the pretty harbor as we 
came up the bay. Of all Dalmatian ports, Lussin- 
piccolo has the most modern and thrifty air, with 
her neat and tidy-looking little white houses with 
their bright, red-tiled roofs, clustered snugly together 
along the marina at the foot of the hill. 

Here is the home of many Jack Tars and hardy 
fishermen. When they are in port their boats ride 
at anchor only a few feet away from their front 
doors. So when Jack's voyage is over and he is 
safe at home, the song of the sea is still in his ears; 
for within his cottage he can ever hear the murmur 
of the bay as it caressingly rocks the fleet of little 

44 



POLA, THE QUARNERO AND TWO LUSSINS 

craft cradled in its arms. No music in all the world 
is as sweet to a man of Lussin-piccolo. 

Dalmatians in large numbers are found in the 
world's merchant service. Rome, as far back as 
the days of Augustus, manned her fleets with hardy 
sailormen from the shores of the Adriatic. To-day, 
Dalmatians, officers and men, constitute the very 
flower of Austria's imperial navy. 

Our captain informed us that Lussin-piccolo was 
his birthplace, and from him we learned of the old 
house, the "Antike Hauser im innern der Stadt," as 
he exprest it. We found several places with that 
general air of dilapidation which goes with the word 
antike, or antico as they say in Italy. One, we 
noticed, had a delightfully picturesque old wall, and 
tumbledown stair which was swarming with unkempt 
youngsters; but whether this was the one he referred 
to or not, we do not know. 

As we took a view of the steps, we noticed an old 
woman and little girl who were watching us. Both 
were bare-legged. We were highly amused to see 
how the old creature clutched the frowsy child as if 
she feared we might be kidnappers. The woman wore 
a once white kerchief on her grizzled head, and on 
the child's uncombed locks we were surprized to see 
a spick-and-span looking American sailor-hat. On the 
black ribbon band, as she passed us, we read in gilt 
letters an inch high, the word Indiana. I immediately 

45 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

turned and presented the small Dalmatian with a 
bright new coin of the realm — but not for her neat- 
ness or beauty, but for the name, the dear American 
name, upon her hat. 

The thrifty little town of Lussin-piccolo stands at 
the end of a gulf of considerable depth, separated by 
high ridges of land from the two seas, to the east 
and west of the island. The town faces the open 
Adriatic and is at the very extremity of the ancient 
gulf, the Quarnero, which is referred to by Dante in 
alluding to Pola. 

"No part of the Adriatic has such ill fame among 
sailors," Jackson says, "as this gulf of Quarnero, or 
Carnia, as it is often called." It is hemmed in by the 
lofty mountains and broken up into a network of 
intricate channels and rugged islands, some of which 
have "crests which rival in height those of the main- 
land, and it is vexed by sudden squalls and cross 
currents of wind that render navigation extremely 
dangerous." The natives declare that the wind blows 
in the gulf from different points of the compass at 
the same time, and that it changes and shifts as 
many as ten times in a day. This Quarnero is, in 
fact, the very birthplace of the dreaded "Bora" — the 
northeast wind which sweeps down in terrific gusts 
from the head of the gulf, carrying all before it. It 
is born in the mountains around Fiume, and during 
the fall and winter, particularly, the Bora becomes a 

46 



POLA, THE QUARNERO AND TWO LUSSINS 

terrible gale, which creates endless havoc and terror. 

Having heard so much of the dreaded Bora, and 
of how it once, in the year 1873, not only blew over 
carts and carried away buildings, but wrecked a 
train on one of the curves of the mountain railway 
above Fiume, we were prepared to encounter a small 
cyclone, at least, when we reached Lussin-piccolo. 
But, evidently, the Bora was away from home, for 
certain it is that we encountered only the balmiest of 
zephyrs in the Quarnero. In fact, the only real blow 
we experienced was just before we reached Corfu — 
and that was too far away from the real haunts of 
the Bora to make "the dread demon of the Adriatic" 
responsible. 

Across the long, slender isthmus from the little Lussin 
is Lussin-grande, but the former has now outstript 
its once grander neighbor. Owing to its larger and 
better harbor it has robbed its rival of most of her 
former prosperity, and in population and importance 
Lussin-piccolo should be the one now known as 
Lussin-grande. 

Cigale is a charming little neighbor of the two 
Lussins, and is well worth visiting for the sake of 
its lovely old olive trees, and the walk along the 
shore, which has charming vistas of the sea be- 
tween the firs. The picturesque fishing-boats, with 
their sharply pointed lateen sails silhouetted against 
the deep blue sky, make a picture to delight an 

47 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

artist, while the dark boughs of the spreading firs, 
the brown rocks, and clumps of pale green cacti, 
form a most harmonious foreground. 

A most pleasant drive, if one can afford the time, 
can be taken from Lussin-piccolo, along the good 
road which follows the shore and climbs the ridge 
separating one Lussin from the other. Lussin- 
grande boasts a number of charming walks beautified 
by rocky terraces. Its little park has comfortable 
benches placed under the trees, where idlers sit in 
the shade and enjoy a lovely view of the water. On 
every side is a profusion of blossoming aloes, date- 
palms, orange and lemon trees, and great clumps 
of enormous cacti, and a wealth of exquisite olean- 
ders, of every tone, from pure white to rosy purple. 
A quaint little church has been built on the shore 
at exactly the proper spot to enhance by its pictur- 
esqueness the beauty of the surroundings. 

Both Lussins are popular health resorts and have 
numerous good hotels. We were told that they are 
well patronized by wealthy Russians and Austrians, 
as winter residences. Well-sheltered harbors afford 
a climate so mild that the lemon and orange trees 
are said to thrive all the year round on the island 
without protection. 

On returning to the steamer we discovered that 
the Brioni had lost the larger portion of her pas- 
sengers. Among the number who had deserted us 

48 



POLA, THE QUARNERO AND TWO LUSSINS 

was Gambe, our athletic guide, and our charming 
acquaintances, the field-marshal and his refined 
little Frau. He, himself, had informed us when he 
bade us adieu that they would leave the steamer 
at Lussin-piccolo, where he and his lady were to 
visit his mother. I can well picture the old lady's 
pride in having her handsome son, the gorgeous 
Austrian officer in full regalia, as her guest. His 
advent must, indeed, have caused a commotion in 
the little town. 

We felt quite sad to see so many empty chairs 
in the dining saloon at the next meal. The captain 
and officers exerted themselves to try to enliven the 
deserted board, but in vain. Everything was 
changed. For the first time we were resigned to 
the fact that we, too, would soon say good-by to 
the Brioni. 



49 



Ill 

SELVE, AND THE TREASURES OF ZARA 

Somewhere in Pola is a miniature "Star- 
spangled banner" in colored enamels, for I lost my 
flag-pin on the way back to the boat; or, at any 
rate, I discovered it was missing shortly after- 
ward. My diary for that day concludes: 

"Have lost my precious 'Old Glory' J bought 

me in 'Frisco, years ago. I feel sick about it. He 
says 'not to fret — don't need it. America written 
all over you!' Glad of it — would hate to be mis- 
taken for a Turk, or one of those horrible 
shrouded women of Mostar (who don't dare call 
their souls their own) we hope to see later. Gambe 
and Robin, and a lot of others, left us at Lussin- 
piccolo. Former had a good joke on us. Am wor- 
ried to death ! Can't remember what I've said, but 

know I talked to J freely before him because 

knew he couldn't talk anything but German. Now 
learn that while he doesn't speak English he 'Can 
understand it fairly!' He admitted it, at the last mo- 
ment — and with a twinkle in his eye that gave me 

50 



SELVE, AND THE TREASURES OF ZARA 

cold chills! Do hope I haven't said anything too 
shocking! I'm racking my brains— but can only 
remember that I laughed about his 'rainbow hosiery' 
and said he would be quite good-looking if he 

hadn't such a 'bovine look.' J says it should 

teach me a lesson to be more careful. He pre- 
tends he knew it all the time; but I know better. 
Men are 'deceivers ever'; but they can't fool their 
wives— sometimes. This morning I was enjoying a 
joke about something— I forget now what. Capt. 
came up, said: 'You laugh much. Always you I see 
laugh. Do all you in Amerika so?' 'Yes, they 
certainly do— when they are having "the time of 
their lives," ' I jokingly explained. 'Ah yaas,' he 
nodded, pretending he understood. 'The time's 
life!' Know he hadn't an idea what I meant. He 
looked so funny I laughed again. I must stop it, 
it is so fattening!" 

It was nine o'clock when we reached Selve, and 
quite dark. We didn't dock, for Selve is only a 
little village of no importance— on an island of the 
same name and description. We just slowed down, 
and when about a half-mile or so off shore the 
Brioni came to a full stop. 

Far away, out of the night, seemed to come 
bobbing toward us over the water, the weirdest of 
lights. A fitful, queer little light, which alternately 

5i 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

rose and fell, and then at intervals seemed to go 
out entirely; but only to reappear the next moment, 
exactly the same as before. We watched it curi- 
ously. I thought of St. Eufemia, and never took 
my eyes off of it for a moment, as it came slowly 
toward us. After what appeared to be a long 
time, we saw that the light was a small lamp set 
in the very bottom of a deep barca, in which two 
men stood rowing. It had been the shadow of one 
of them which had from time to time obscured 
the light; and the night was so dark we could see 
neither the men nor their boat until they had almost 
reached us. 

As we peered over the rail we saw a boy quickly 
clamber down the gangway and drop into the wait- 
ing barca. The next moment he dexterously made 
his way across the seats to the bow of the plunging 
craft, where he proceeded calmly to seat himself. 
We thought the fellow must be crazy, for the boat 
was a large one, and he had perched himself at the 
extreme end of the blunt prow where he seemed in 
imminent danger of falling overboard. But we 
soon discovered that there was "method in his 
madness." 

From the steerage, people now began to swarm. 
They crowded down the swaying gangway and 
jumped, sprawled or were tossed into the plunging 
and pitching barca, which the fitful light of the 

52 



SELVE, AND THE TREASURES OF ZARA 

one poor lone little lamp — set upon the floor in its 
cavernous depths — utterly failed to illuminate. 

Now followed such a motley collection of bags 
and boxes, bundles and parcels, as no small boat 
ever before carried in addition to its human freight 
We saw bags of flour and a box of canned goods; 
sacks of potatoes and a sewing-machine; a baby's 
high-chair and a tin wash-basin; small parcels 
neatly wrapt in paper and tied with string; bulky 
objects swathed in bagging and fastened up with 
coarse hempen rope ; big bales and small boxes ; 
bundles of every size, shape and description; be- 
tween which seventeen men, women, and children 
(by actual count) had in some way wedged them- 
selves! There didn't appear to be room left for a 
paper of pins, when one of the women, stowed 
away under the accumulation of household effects, 
suddenly remembered something, which she had 
forgotten until the moment the boat was about to 
start. 

Then the whole company began to talk at once; 
offering suggestions, shouting out orders, explana- 
tions, and directions, at the very top of their lusty 
lungs. They made such a commotion and hubbub 
we were wondering what on earth could have hap- 
pened — when, as suddenly, the bedlam ceased. 

A deck-hand had appeared at the head of the 
gangway with the missing article, which proved to 

53 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

be a baby-jumper. He handed it down carefully 
to a man in the boat, who passed it on to another, 
and so from hand to hand it went, held high in 
air, until it reached its owner. The poor woman 
having no place to put it, was forced to hold it on 
her head — much to the amusement of the entire 
party. 

Then they cast loose, and laughing and chatter- 
ing — apparently utterly oblivious of the danger of 
the overladen boat capsizing — they began their 
perilous journey to the shore. They put us in 
mind of a colony of ants clinging to a chip. "That 
boy was no fool. He knew what he was about 
after all!" John laughingly remarked. 

Having learned that the Brioni would not reach 
Zara, our next stopping-place, until after eleven that 
night, and that she was to leave at the unearthly 
hour of 4 a.m. we had decided to part company 
with her, but most unwillingly. Our only consola- 
tion, however, was that we had been assured by 
the captain, and the officers as well, that we would 
find the other steamers quite as comfortable. But 
we had so enjoyed the Brioni, we greatly doubted 
we would find things so congenial and pleasant on 
any other steamer, or that we would feel so much 
at home. It had been a charming voyage and 
very like a trip on a private yacht. But we wanted 
to see Zara, so we had to leave; and later expert 

54 



SELVE, AND THE TREASURES OF ZARA 

ences proved that what we had been told was quite 
true; but at the moment of saying good-by we felt 
very loath to go. 

If Rovigno, the Lussins, and Pola were charm- 
ing — and they really were — what shall I say of 
Zara? Words are, indeed, poor, colorless things 
with which to express the delight we experienced 
in discovering her perfect mine of riches! In my 
mind's eye I see now the old wells in the Piazza; 
the graceful and picturesque campanile ; the fleet of 
fishing-boats in the harbor; the lovely acacia-shaded 
walk upon the ramparts; and can almost feel the 
fresh breeze which comes in from the sea! 

Where to-day — except on this seldom-visited 
shore — can cities like Zara be found? Zara! with 
her color, her medieval streets, and rare old churches 
filled with marvelous relics! There is not one 
Zara, only, in Dalmatia, there are many — not merely 
the bare bones of the long dead years, like Pompeii, 
but living embodiments of strongholds of the middle 
ages, which existed here at the dawn of the Christian 
era. Veritable gems of the Adriatic are these 
ancient cities, set like jewels in a golden, historic 
chain — cities, on whose venerable walls and lovely 
campaniles is written the name of Venice, fair bride 
of the sea; and where her faithful lion still stands 
on guard over the old, old gates. 

It was so dark when we arrived in Zara we saw 

55 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

nothing but the new Dogana. I remember that 
as we hastened out of it, into the narrow street, 
John laughingly remarked that he thought "Dog- 
ona a very good name for a custom house!" A 
stalwart son of Dalmatia preceded us, carrying my 
enormous suitcase upon his head; with John's — 
or the one he calls his; I use about half of it — 
slung over his shoulder on a funny and fuzzy home- 
made rope almost the size of a ship's hawser. 

Early the next morning we started out sight- 
seeing, but soon found that to do Zara and her 
antique treasures anything like justice we should 
have had a week instead of a day. 

We began with a pilgrimage to the old gates of 
the city. The first one visited, I admit, was rather 
disappointing. I think it was called the Porta 
Marina. It was much smaller than we had ex- 
pected, and the lion over the archway was hideous ! — 
a horrid, snarling creature with a halo, and his 
mane parted in the middle. Had it not been for 
his wings and book, I never would have recognized 
my well-beloved Lion of St Mark, in this ugly 
beast — altho even he of Venice is not noted for 
beauty ! 

But if this gate was not up to our expectations, 
everything else in the city certainly more than 
exceeded our highest hopes. The Porta Terra 
Firma is magnificent! I greatly doubt if any in 

56 



SELVE, AND THE TREASURES OF ZARA 

Italy can surpass it in imposing dignity, a dignity 
and stateliness which its simplicity makes the more 
impressive. It is a massive, substantial structure 
which has defied the centuries. Above its tall cen- 
tral archway is a fine Venetian lion who looks 
down proudly from his post of honor upon the 
humble folk coming and going below. But it is the 
inner side of this gate which is particularly interest- 
ing. It was a triumphal arch erected by a Roman 
lady, Melia Anniana, to Laepicius Bassus, her 
husband. 

I couldn't help wondering if Melia Ann hadn't 
stolen the idea of a triumphal arch erected to her 
husband from Salvia Postuma — for women in 
every age have been much the same. (I'm confident, 
if Salvia were here to-day, instead of saving where 
she could on the carvings of an arch, she would 
be "a bargain hunter" — the first customer in the 
morning at the department store advertising "Fifteen 
dollar raincoats for $1.98!" For whether we wear 
a toga or a "hobble skirt" depends entirely upon 
the century; we ourselves do not change. Women 
are always women — never the same, and always the 
same!) 

In Rovigno we looked in vain for the gorgeous 
habiliments we had been led to expect. Not only 
was the garb seen quite uncharacteristic, but the 
entire populace wore, apparently, that heterogeneous 

57 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

collection of garments familiarly described in the 
New York vernacular as — "a job-lot of misfits!" 

We had read that the Rovignians had "The 
unique custom of wearing one large earring in the 
left ear." But altho we closely scrutinized every 
one we met, we utterly failed to substantiate the 
fact. Possibly the citizens who affected one ear- 
ring were away from home, or they kept within 
their cottages. I only know that we did not see 
them. 

But Zara, with her crooked little streets fairly 
glowing with a riot of brilliant hues, more than 
made up for any shortcomings in Rovigno. In the 
morning the Piazza dell' Erbe, where the market 
is held, is the best place to see the life and color 
of Zara. Here we saw numbers of peasants from 
the outlying districts, among whom were the Mor- 
lacchi — strange, uncouth-looking people from the 
mountains of northern Dalmatia, of whom it could 
be truly said "Solomon in all his glory was not 
arrayed like one of these." 

The Morlak women were squatted in a row, on 
the flagged market-place in oriental fashion, with 
their country produce piled up in front of them on 
a kerchief, or on a piece of bagging spread on the 
ground. They had eggs, poultry, little squealing 
pigs and green vegetables for sale; and as we walked 
down the line offered us their wares in a terribly 

58 



SELVE, AND THE TREASURES OF ZARA 

guttural, burring tongue — which John laughingly 
declared was "the worst yet!" 

These peasants wear a' most striking costume. It 
consists of a coarse, near- white homespun linen 
smock, embroidered at wrists and over the breast 
with gaudy designs. Over it they wear a bodice, 
laced across the bosom with tinsel cords or strings. 
They have a short and voluminous skirt of some 
thick material sufficiently abbreviated in length to 
show their embroidered leggings, which are worked 
in colored thread and adorned with many beads 
like the leggings and moccasins of an American 
Indian. But as bizarre as were the garments I 
have mentioned, the most striking of all were their 
wonderful aprons ! Marvelous creations — stiff as a 
board with the crudest of embroideries — showing 
bouquets of blue and green roses, or conventional 
designs in colors which would put to shame one of 
Turner's most vivid sunsets. The aprons of the 
Morlak women, and, in fact, those worn by all 
the female Croatians, were the oddest feminine 
garments I have ever seen. They were as thick 
and heavy as carpets, and reminded me of nothing 
so much as the wrong side of the Bagdad portieres 
in our library at home. 

Add to this varied assortment of gay raiment 
long, dangling earrings; leather belts studded thickly 
with bright metal knobs, and fastened with huge 

59 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

silver-gilt buckles, almost as large as a breastplate; 
numerous cheap-looking bracelets and rings; and 
quantities of chains made of shells, beads, and 
jingling coins, which fittingly completed their bar- 
baric gorgeousness. 

The almost universal foot-covering in Dalmatia is 
a kind of shapeless slipper, or sandal, known as 
an "opanka." A Mr. Wheeler, an Englishman, made 
a sketch of these Croatian peasants in 1675. His 
drawing shows that the style in opankas in all these 
years has not changed in the least. When, some 
days later, we were in Ragusa, we noticed that a 
carved figure on one of the ancient columns wore 
with a Roman toga the same kind of footgear that 
we see worn here to-day. There is no question as 
to the great antiquity of the opanka. It is certainly 
simple enough in manufacture, as well as inexpensive 
and comfortable, which probably accounts for its 
long-continued popularity. 

In the market square we saw the whole process 
of manufacture "from factory to wearer" com- 
pleted in a few moments. The merchant having 
selected a skin and laid it on the ground, the cus- 
tomer placed her foot on the skin. He then cut 
the hide in an oval roughly to fit the size of the 
customer's foot. (And that size was simply enor- 
mous! An "E-12" at least.) Many little slits were 
then snipped round the edge through which a thin 

60 





ZARA 

PORTA TERRA FIRMA 
ANCIENT WELLS 



SELVE, AND THE TREASURES OF ZARA 

strip of leather was run, by which it was drawn 
up like a bag, and the thongs tied around the ankle 
with a deft plait at the toe and more strings to 
lace it across over the instep — and there it was! "A 
ready-to-wear opanka, guaranteed made on the 
customer's own 'foot form'!" 

Men and unmarried girls in Zara affected the 
same little round, bright red Dalmatian cap. It has 
a funny little tuft of black fringe hanging over one 
ear, and is worn at such an acute angle that an elastic 
band is sometimes necessary to keep it on. 

These absurdly small, brimless caps — and this is 
the land of radiant sunshine — always reminded me 
of the head-gear of the English Tommy Atkins; 
for they are of the same "pork-pie" shape, and 
worn like Tommy's, over one ear. Older women 
and matrons wear a huge white linen kerchief with 
embroidered hem and corners, tied under the chin, 
with the other ends extending well down their 
portly backs. By looking closely, I discovered that 
in many instances these shawl-like kerchiefs covered 
the same little red cap. If only I could describe in 
admiring words some lovely, dark-eyed creature that 
peeped out at us from the folds of these snowy 
kerchiefs, the picture would be complete ! But, alas ! 
truth compels me to admit that, while the Morlacchi 
and other Croatians are admittedly dark, they are 
far from handsome. 

6l y 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

The male contingent were not one whit behind 
their women folk in gorgeous appearance. They 
had embroidered waistcoats buttoned down the side 
with bright metal buttons, and their jackets, usually 
sleeveless, were embroidered on the shoulders and 
down the seams with birds and flowers, while both 
waistcoat and jacket were liberally embellished with 
garish gold braid, tassels, and pendant knob links, of 
filigree silver, varying in size from a dime to a trade 
dollar. 

I am quite convinced that the writer of a comic 
opera could not do better than take a trip to Zara 
if he wants to get ideas for a setting. With the 
striking costumes not only of the Morlacchi and 
Croatians to afford inspiration, but with Bosnians, 
Magyars and Herzegovinians, as well to draw from, 
he could not fail to find effective combinations of 
color for costuming a chorus. 

Almost by accident we discovered that the market 
square boasts a famous antiquity — an isolated, 
conventional Roman column. We had not heard 
of it, but noticed it in passing. It still carries its 
defaced capital, and upon this the Lion of St. Mark 
stands. Attached to the front of the pillar is a 
large Byzantine cross from which hang rusty chains, 
on the end of which are the old rings to which were 
fastened poor wretches condemned to be pilloried 
here in ancient days. These grim reminders of the 

62 



SELVE, AND THE TREASURES OF ZARA 

cruelty and barbarism of the past have dangled here 
for ages. So long, so very long, have the fetters 
swung in the wind, been warmed by the sun, or 
washed by the rain, that in the centuries they have 
left deeply graven upon the fair marble their cruel 
marks. Thank heaven, say I, that there are no 
longer any pillories! I never see one, or a ducking- 
stool, but that I am devoutly thankful I didn't live in 
those old days ! For I feel confident I should have 
been employed for a personal demonstration of both. 
I am always shocking somebody. I can not be con- 
ventional, and prim — no matter how hard I try! 
I know very well I should have been one of those 
"contumacious" female persons who used to be dis- 
ciplined for wearing the wrong cap, or for not at- 
tending Divine Service! 

Just off the Piazza dell' Erbe are the magnificent 
ruins of St. Donato, a very ancient, round church 
with three apses — from which no doubt it got its 
original name, "Church of the Holy Trinity." It 
has known many vicissitudes. It was once a hay 
loft, and for years was used by the Austrian Gov- 
ernment as a military store-house. But the writings 
of a Professor Eitelberger (a German "Jackson") 
fortunately rescued the old building from further 
desecration. The modern upper floor was carefully 
removed, and St. Donato is now a museum filled 
with antiquities. But St. Donato itself is more in- 

63 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

teresting as an antiquity, than for anything it con- 
tains. It was mentioned by the Emperor Constantine, 
the historian. (Constantine Porphyrogenitus, the 
one whose name means "Born in the purple.") He 
spoke of it as being "Two churches — a second church 
over the first." This second church is only a sort 
of gallery, but it has its own three apses, like the one 
below, and was reached by a double stairway, one of 
which was a "Santa Scala" — like the sacred stairs 
in Rome, which the devout ascend upon their knees — 
the other, the means by which the worshipers could 
walk down. 

Authorities disagree as to the age of St. Donato, 
but as it lies between the time of the first Bishop, 
Donatus II, in the fifth century, and Bishop Don- 
atus III, in the beginning of the ninth, it doesn't 
matter very much. In either case St. Donato is suffi- 
ciently aged to inspire our profound respect. My 
diary reads: 

"Just back to the hotel from seeing grand 
old church. We were so tired from gadding about 
Zara all morning, we had to come back to rest up 
before dinner. We were in great luck! There was 
a festa of some kind going on, and the Piazza dell' 
Erbe — which is the 'Square of the Vegetables' — 
was a sight to see! It was simply crowded with 
peasants, who had come over from one of the neigh- 

64 



SELVE, AND THE TREASURES OF ZARA 

boring islands on some sort of pilgrimage to St. 
Grisogono's church — he is the Zaraian patron saint. 
They rowed over in boats and paraded about town, 
headed by men with banners, acolytes, swinging 
censers, and their priest and his attendants, in their 
best robes, stoles, and things. After them followed 
the islanders, walking two and two. I noticed that 
several of the pairs walked hand in hand — and all 
carried lighted candles. It was simply adorable — ■ 
the church scene in Faust — but 'a truly, really 
story' — as I used to say when I was a wee girlie. 

"As we were watching the procession, with all 
our eyes, we were startled by a sudden uproar in 
the Piazza. Three or four men had gotten into some 
kind of a brawl and were shouting and gesticulating 
so angrily, we thought them about to come to blows 
(we never can remember that these people are all 
given to mere bluster!). Well, John seeing a fine- 
looking Austrian officer approaching, stept up to 
him and politely inquired, in his best German, what 
the trouble was about. His best German, however, is 
bad enough. It passed muster as Dutch in Amster- 
dam, but the Germans themselves often fail to recog- 
nize it. 'The gentlemen are merely having a little 
political discussion,' the officer smilingly replied, in 
very good English, taking off his cap and making 
us a profound bow. 

" 'But why are they shouting so loudly ?' I asked 

65 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

involuntarily, overcome with curiosity. For the 
taunt uttered by one had now been taken up, and 
was being repeated in concert by the other belliger- 
ents, until the clamor was deafening. 

"He hesitated a moment — and I saw he was em- 
barrassed; I feel confident he actually blushed — and 
then said very soberly, but with the wickedest laugh 
in his eyes : 'Madam, they are saying "Izvadi 
kosulya! Izvadi kosulya !" ' 

" 'But what does that mean ?' I inquired eagerly — 
not heeding John's nudge in the least. 

" 'It is an old story. Many years ago these 
Croatians, whom we call "Morlacchi," had the 
custom of wearing their hair plaited in a pig-tail 
down their backs; and they wore the ends of their 
shirts outside of their trousers. This fellow the 
crowd is abusing, favors the present Croatian move- 
ment. They are what you call in America "guying" 
him! They are shouting "Izvadi kosulya" — which 
means "Out with your shirt !" ' 

" 'Oh, I understand — thank you very much !' 
I spoke demurely, but, in spite of myself, I colored 
under his laughing, wicked eyes. John looked like 
a thunder cloud. These 'breaks' of mine so em- 
barrass him! He says I haven't a particle of dis- 
cretion. I'm afraid he is right — T never open my 
mouth, but that I put my foot in it' as the woman 
said. Only my mouth isn't quite as large as that — 

66 



SELVE, AND THE TREASURES OF ZARA 

altho my feet are tiny. Indeed, I sometimes wish they 
— the feet, not my mouth — were larger, they often ache 
so badly. I'm really quite a little too heavy for 
them. / must stop laughing! To get back to 
Captain Bela Masticevich — for that is his name, 
and it is a mouthful — our chance meeting with him 
was one of the most fortunate things which could 
have happened! He is very refined — and awfully 
handsome. (I adore good-looking chaps with brass 
buttons, clanking swords, gold braid and epaulets!) 
He is really a most charming fellow, and, best of all, 
he knows all about Zara, and speaks English fluently! 
He told us that he was 'on leave' ; and simply in- 
sisted upon 'doing himself the great pleasure of 
showing us the town.' Being entire strangers, we, 
of course, demurred — not wishing to take up his 
time. But he said : 'There is nothing which I could 
do which would give me so much pleasure' — and 
he looked into my eyes when he said it, and I think 
John caught him. Of course he didn't mean a thing 
— these foreign men think it necessary to 'make 
eyes' at every one they meet. They consider it only 
being decently polite. It really is very amusing 
But, if John did it, I'd be simply furious ! 

"Well, Captain 'Bela' insisted. That last name is 
too long to bother with — so from the very first I 
called him 'Captain Bela.' He looked pleased and 
flattered, but John — I could see — thought it too 

67 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

familiar. (But as I had started it, there was nothing 
for him to do but to follow my example.) So off 
we three went. I confess I did feel proud, walking 
about between two such handsome men! For John 
is handsome — much handsomer, too, than even 

B , in all his regimentals. I don't say so because 

he's mine. I know he is handsome; other women 
think so, too — lots of them. They show it — pert, 
horrid, flirtatious creatures ! Well, we had a perfectly 

charming morning, we three. B took us to 

the Giardini Publico — the public gardens — where we 
duly inspected five old wells, 'cinque possi,' sitting 
all in a row, from which the Zara women still 
draw water. It comes from some place — I forget 
what, and it passes through beds of sand — an antique 
filtration affair, centuries old. We saw another 
Roman column, too, but it wasn't as fine as the 
one in the market square. 

"But I must stop scribbling and dress at once! 

We are to meet B and take dinner with him in 

the 'Piazza dei Signori.' That means the Men's 
Square. Everything here belongs to the men! The 
only gay things about the women — poor, downtrodden 
creatures ! — are their clothes. Their lives are all hard 
work, and dull and gray enough. I'm so glad I 
wasn't born a Dalmatian — or I feel sure I would 
be a bomb-throwing, acid-pouring, Croatian suffra- 
gette! But these women haven't sense enough to be 

68 



SELVE, AND THE TREASURES OF ZARA 

anything but the beasts of burden they are. As I 
told John — when I saw a man riding on a donkey, 
smoking, while his poor wife trudged behind on foot, 
bowed over with the load she carried — every man 
in Dalmatia should sing: 'Let the women do the 
work, do the work, while the men take it easy!' 
It certainly would be a most popular ditty here, for 
it suits conditions to a nicety. Heavens! I hear 
John coming, and I haven't even started to get 
ready! It is so warm I shall dress all in white." 



69 



IV 

MORE TREASURES OF ZARA 

The cathedral of St. Anastasia is Zara's pride. 
It is always spoken of simply as the "duomo." 
Altho the Italian language has the word "cattedral" 
it seems to have lapsed into "innocuous desuetude" 
for it is never heard — the word duomo (dome) 
having usurped its place. Not only here, in Dal- 
matia, but all over Italy, in every city boasting a 
cathedral, that edifice is known as "the duomo," no 
matter how many other churches with domes there 
may happen to be. 

Zara's duomo is certainly a splendid building with 
a history old and quaint enough to satisfy any one. 
Antiquarians who know what we poor mortals 
would never guess, tell us it is not the original 
church described by the last Constantine as floored 
with magnificent mosaics and decorated with paint- 
ings which were already ancient in the tenth 
century! But, while the building is not the same, 
some of the columns of "cipollino and white marble" 
mentioned by Constantine may still be seen in the 
nave arcade, while "fragments of the famous mosaics 

70 



MORE TREASURES OF ZARA 

are still to be seen in the floor, mixed with the 
pavements of a later age." 

The cathedral was destroyed by Crusaders under 
Henrico Dandolo, those Christian vandals, who 
sacked Zara in the thirteenth century; the same 
Doge later, with his army of looters, invaded Con- 
stantinople and robbed St. Sophia of her fairest 
treasures — altho most of us have always given the 
"unspeakable Turk" the credit for vandalizing the 
splendid basilica of Justinian. 

We may see to-day, on a slab in the floor of the 
left gallery, close by a sacred relic, the porphyry 
bowl "in which Mary washed the Babe's swaddling 
clothes," the name Henricus Dandolo carved on the 
stone. 

But only a year later the old Doge himself was 
laid low by the "Grim Reaper," and his bones buried 
in the great sanctuary he had permitted his troops to 
violate. 

One story says: "The Crusaders, prompted by 
remorse, left money for the rebuilding of the 
Christian church they had destroyed." Another 
account gives as the much more reasonable influence 
which induced the marauders to leave funds for 
rebuilding Zara's duomo, the fact that they "Feared 
the Pope (Innocent III) would put his threatened 
anathemas into effect, and excommunicate them for 
their looting and destruction of a Christian city 

7* 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

and its Christian edifices." This reason seems much 
the more credible, for we may doubt if Crusaders 
would be likely to feel remorse. The only thing 
they feared was excommunication, the weapon the 
Pope wielded. But no matter what the reason, the 
funds were left, and the duomo dedicated in 1285. 

The exterior of St. Anastasia is particularly hand- 
some, the central doorway is most imposing, and 
justly celebrated. The facade is held to be the 
finest in all Dalmatia. It is in the style of the Lom- 
bard churches • of Italy. It has two fine "rose- 
windows," one above the other over the central 
entrance. They look much more like wheels than 
roses, to the uninitiated; but, that which is called a 
rose-window, by any other name would not sound 
as sweet. 

When preparing my note-book in Zara, I made a 
crude little sketch from a picture of the duomo, 
inserting technical terms used in describing the 
facade, so I would recognize here, and elsewhere in 
Dalmatia, the architectural beauties we had come so 
far to see. Even a smattering of technicalities in con- 
nection with ecclesiastical structures adds immensely 
to one's appreciation. Years ago I learned to know 
a "Corot" by the fuzzy trees, and Rubens by his reds, 
and his fleshy women. The joy of knowing them at 
a glance, and exclaiming with a superior air of ex- 
alted erudition, "That Corot is really good!" or 

72 



MORE TREASURES OF ZARA 

"Rubens' technique is superb!" I don't know enough 
about real art to appreciate fully the work of either 
master, but it is like meeting old friends to be able 
to pick out in a gallery of pictures the work of 
the great artists. "A little learning is a dangerous 
thing," the old maxim declares. I should not say 
that — but it is all true, with the exception of the ad- 
jective. I prefer to say, "A little learning is a de- 
lightful thing!" 

For instance, think what a prosaic, uninteresting 
place our beloved Mount Vernon would be to a 
foreigner who had never heard of George, and his 
little hatchet, and the immortal story of the cherry 
tree? Some horrid old iconoclast would have us 
believe "the whole story is a mere myth!" But no 
real patriot will listen to any such words of heresy. 
Why should we? The "plain truth" takes from 
us a charming fiction which has embellished the story 
of Washington so long that it has actually become 
a part of the historic garment in which we have 
clothed the Father of his Country. "Facts are 
things" some people insist. Yes, ugly things, very 
often — like doctor's bills, mother-in-law's visits, 
doing the marketing, and making out the weekly 
laundry list. I hate plain, unlovely truths. Where 
ignorance of heavy, ponderous facts is bliss, 'tis 
indeed folly to "get wise" — as the little street 
gamins express it. 

73 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

Zara is the very threshold of Dalmatia, and here 
particularly should we completely forget this prosaic 
twentieth century and every fact relative to big 
cities — boasting trolley-cars and modern hostelries with 
elevators, electric lights, private baths, and "phones 
in every room" — that we may enj'03^ to the ut- 
most the unique experience of climbing up four 
flights of rickety stairs to the light of a flickering 
tallow-dip, and calling over the banisters for more 
water in the morning. 

But to return to the cathedral. We must particu- 
larly remember to scrutinize the magnificent marble 
"baldacchino" over the altar. For the canopy upheld 
by the four lovely cipollino columns, it is claimed 
by the Zaratini, is "Finer and loftier than the 
more famous one in St. Mark's, Venice." 

On top of this baldacchino is a large statue of 
Christ, His right hand raised in blessing. In His left 
hand He holds a flag or pennant bearing a Greek 
cross. A stone bench for the clergy runs round the 
apse, and in the center is a fine Byzantine bishop's 
chair. 

The choir-stalls are particularly fine. Jackson 
declares them to be, "Undoubtedly the most mag- 
nificent example of a class of woodwork that 
abounds in Dalmatia." Each stall is divided by 
elbows and shades elaborately carved with open (or 
"pierced") scrollwork which extends up to and 

74 



MORE TREASURES OF ZARA 

supports the canopies shaped like little fluted shells. 
Above are small figures standing in niches. They 
represent the prophets and others, from Adam down, 
each emerging from a scroll and holding a label. 

The treasury of the duomo is particularly rich in 
silver and gold "reliquaries," queer receptacles in 
which sacred relics are preserved. One has a base 
formed of four dragons who have lost their wings. 
Their tails raised in the air form supports upon 
which the upper portion, a design formed of birds 
and foliage, rests. These, in turn, support a crystal 
tube, in which is a "Holy Thorn" surmounted by a 
crucifix. 

An arm reliquary made of transparent enamels 
has an inscription which delighted me, because I 
could read it. It said "Digitvm Sancti Iohannis 
Baptiste," which I knew at once meant the finger of 
St. John the Baptist. John laughed, and said any 
one could read that, but, as I told him, it was an 
arm reliquary, and if I had not known how to read 
Latin how could I have known it contained only 
a finger? 

More beautiful than even these choir-stalls are 
those to be seen in the church of St. Francis. They 
stood originally in front of the altar, but when the 
new one was erected, in 1808, they were placed 
behind, where they still remain. They are remark- 
ably artistic, said to be the work of a master crafts- 

75 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

man, a certain Master Giovanni of Venice, who made 
them in 1394. 

Between .the stalls are wonderfully fine old carv- 
ings. One represents St. George with his good 
sword in hand, seated on his prancing steed, about 
to set off to slay the dragon. Another shows St. 
Francis receiving the stigmata, and other Biblical 
subjects not quite so easily recognized. It is charm- 
ing to know that St. Francis really visited Dalmatia 
in the year 12 12, and that he, himself, is credited 
with having founded this church and monastery, as 
well as innumerable others which are scattered over 
Dalmatia. My diary says : 

"Where shall I begin to try to write all that 
has happened this afternoon? From the very first, 
I knew John was disgruntled. I saw it plainly the 
very moment he heard me say I was going to change 
my dress, and that I intended wearing my lace 
waist and the duck skirt I had had laundered in 
Venice. I should think a man would like his wife 
to look cool and neat when it is so warm. Dear 
knows, a poor woman with only one serge 'tailor 
made suit' to her back, and two wash skirts, can't 
be said to be 'always dressing!' I know that! It 
takes a smart person to manage to look even decently 
drest with only three flimsy silk waists and seven 
white ones, and that is every one I have. To hear 

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MORE TREASURES OF ZARA 

John talk, one would think I had several Saratoga 
trunks. He didn't say a word when I perked up a 
little for the field-marshal and the folks on the 
Brioni. I saw he was huffy when we started off to 
meet Bela, but I didn't let it bother me. For I felt 
sure that he was just provoked because I wasn't 
ready when he came for me. We met Bela (Captain 
Bela, of course I mean) in the Piazza, as he had 
arranged. He said, as it was a little early, he pro- 
posed that we go first to see the new campanile in 
the Corso, finished after Mr. Jackson's plan. 'Jack- 
son?' I cried. T. G. ? My Jackson?' Bela looked 
amazed. 'You know Mr. Jackson? His great work 
on Dalmatia was published many years ago. He 
must be an old man, now.' His face, as well as 
his tone, showed his astonishment. 'My wife means 
that she has read Mr. Jackson's books,' John ex- 
plained, stiffly, giving me a withering look. (Poor 
John, he is such a stickler for the proprieties, and I 
am always shocking his sensibilities by being what 
he calls 'So ridiculously emphatic!') 

" 'Read his books ? Well, I should say I have,' I 
declared, laughingly. 'I have actually devoured all 
three volumes. But they are so full of technicalities, 
and Latin and Greek quotations that I found them 
rather heavy and hard to digest, I must admit. But 
nevertheless I doted on them.' I spoke airily, taking 
good care to pay no attention to John — who I knew 

77 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

was doing his best to catch my eye — for I saw that 
Bela was highly amused. I read in his face that he 
found me most entertaining, and liked my vivacity. 
From that moment, we became quite like old friends. 
He told us about Archbishop Maffeo Valaresso, the 
old fellow who had begun the campanile years ago. 
He was the very man who gave the splendid silver- 
gilt pastoral staff we saw in the treasury of the 
duomo. The handle of the crook had eleven funny 
little half-length figures each popping out of a flower, 
just like a Jack-in-the-box. The Savior stood in the 
middle on the top. In the center of the handle were 
figures representing the Virgin Mary and the arch- 
bishop himself — which I particularly remember, be- 
cause he had had his own figure made three times 
as large and prominent as the one of our Lord. 

"Well, it seems his relatives objected to his spend- 
ing his money on the campanile, so, altho it was 
begun away back in 1480, > when Jackson wrote of it, 
it was still unfinished — four hundred years later! He 
however, made a drawing of what it was to be, and 
the Zaratini, in recognition of his telling them all 
about themselves, have had it finished according to 
his plan. And Bela says they have had struck a 
gold medal also, to honor this same T. G. — who is 
called 'The father of Dalmatia!' I always say T. G., 
because there are so many other Jacksons. John says 
it is 'flippant and undignified,' but I really mean no 

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MORE TREASURES OF ZARA 

disrespect to the splendid old gentleman. I couldn't 
admire or respect him more if I called him 'Mr. T. 
G. Jackson, M.A., F.S.A., Honorary Fellow of Wad- 
ham College, Oxford, Archeologist, Author of "Dal- 
matia, the Ouarnero and Istria," in three volumes.' 
Poor dear John, it must be awfully trying to be so 
quiet and refined — so eminently proper — and to be 
tied to a harum-scarum wife like me; but, still, he 
must remember I could not have married him unless 
he had asked me! 

"But to return to our dinner in the Piazza dei 
Signori — it was simply perfect! Not just the food 
we ate at one of the little tables under an awning, 
but everything. The Caffe agli Specchi has two long 
rows of tables and the people walk right between 
them, going and coming in the Piazza — which has 
the usual clock-tower, communal palace, loggia, 
and all that, which one sees in every one of them. 
As we sat there eating and enjoying ourselves, there 
was a constant stream of people, all so delightfully 
'foreign' they quite enchanted me. There were lots 
of natty Austrian officers with their brass buttons 
and clanking swords; funny-looking peasants pushing- 
outlandish hand-carts; beetle-browed Morlacchi in 
stage trappings and bright gewgaws, carrying wine- 
skins, swarthy contadini in embroideries and silver 
ornaments, bearing huge bundles ; and pretty, dark- 
eyed Dalmatian girls, with marvelous aprons, and in 

79 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

coquettish red caps decked with strings of coins, 
selling flowers. Bela told us the magnificent indi- 
vidual in a crimson jacket with filigree buttons, 
almost the size of a hen's egg, was simply a member 
of the rural police. There were barefoot friars in 
brown, priests in long black cassocks, and the Greek 
'sacerdotes' in high hats, with their hair — tied up in 
straggly psyche knots — showing under their beavers, 
and with a ridiculous blue silk sash tied around their 
waists, over their long, trailing, priestly robes. It 
was, as John said, 'As good as a show,' and we had 
so much to see, we were sorry when the last course 

was served. Of course, J settled the bill; he 

didn't let B pay anything at all, not even for 

the cigarets — for, as John explained to him, he 
was our guest. Afterward we went to the church 
of St. Simeone. I didn't care for anything so much 
as for the splendid old area in the treasury, whose 
story reminded us of St. Eufemia and her marvelous 
history. The ark is made of wrought-silver plates 
fastened upon the inner cypress-wood coffin. It cost 
28,000 ducats, when made by a famous silversmith 
of Milan, in the year 1380. On one side of the 
sloping lid lies an effigy of Saint Simeone himself — 
who looks in great danger of sliding off. On the 
ends and sides are pictures showing the story Bela 
told us. 

"It seems that a long time ago a certain ship was 

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MORE TREASURES OF ZARA 

blown into the harbor of Zara during a storm. A 
gentleman who was taking the body of his brother 
to Venice for burial, as he explained, became so ill 
that he decided to remain awhile in Zara. So he 
had the corpse of his relative placed temporarily in 
the cemetery. Shortly after, the sick man died, 
and a pious monk, who had shriven him, had a 
dream in which 'Saint Simeone the Just' (who 
held Christ in his arms at the Presentation in the 
Temple) appeared to him in a vision, and declared 
the body placed in their cemetery was none other 
than his own, and ordered its removal to a more 
fitting sepulcher. This was done immediately, and 
great miracles were worked by the sacred relic. The 
sick were made whole and the blind to see, by simply 
touching the wooden casket in which the body of the 
saint reposed. People came from near and far to 
visit the church of St. Maria, which held the sacred 
treasure; among others, King Louis of Hungary, ac- 
companied by his wife and his mother, both named 
Elizabeth. 

"It seems that the younger Elizabeth was a 
'souvenir fiend' — or, as she was a real live queen, I 
should say a 'kleptomaniac' or relic hunter. Seeing 
her opportunity, she deftly broke off a finger of the 
saint and hid it quickly in her bosom. Instantly her 
senses left her and she dropt in a dead faint upon 
the floor. Upon recovering consciousness, what was 

81 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

her horror to discover that she had been stricken with 
total blindness, and that her breast had rotted away 
where it had been touched by the finger of the 
saint. Falling upon her knees in an agony of sup- 
plication, she acknowledged her sin and returned, the 
finger to the casket, and 'it immediately attached 
itself to the hand from which she had stolen it.' 

"Somewhat mollified by the prompt restitution of 
his finger the saint restored her sight, but the place 
which had rotted away in her breast remained to 
remind the miserable woman of her wanton destruc- 
tion of private property. It is said the queen asked 
repeatedly for forgiveness, and solemnly vowed to 
present him with a fine silver casket in which to 
secure his sacred bones from any future vandal like 
herself, if he would only heal her bosom. Imme- 
diately the forgiving saint, pleased with the idea of 
reposing in such a fine sarcophagus, acceded to her 
prayers, and she was made whole. The royal peni- 
tent, cured entirely of her desire to pilfer, at once 
set about fulfilling her vow. The. ark which she had 
constructed is six feet in length (the effigy of the 
saint upon the lid is life-size), and is upheld by 
the hands of four angels, originally of solid silver. 
But alas, when the Venetians were at war they melted 
down two of the silver figures, replacing them later 
with bronze, the figures being cast from the metal of 
guns captured from the Turks, Queen Elizabeth had 

83 



MORE TREASURES OF ZARA 

no qualms of conscience about her weakness, for the 
whole story of her rape of the sacred digit is set 
forth upon the ark in a series of pictures, that all the 
world may see — and also take cognizance of how 
handsomely she fulfilled her obligation. At the head 
and foot of the ark in the tympanum is the royal 
cypher, 'L. R.,' with the imperial crown resting on a 
casque from which comes the head of a crowned 
eagle, all wrought most beautifully by the skill of 
the silversmith, Francesco d'Antonio di Milano, who 
is said to have used a thousand sheets of finest silver 
in the construction of this Area di St. Simeone, his 
great masterpiece. The picture shown upon the east 
end is particularly interesting from the fact that it 
shows King Louis and his queen surrounded by their 
court, all depicted in the style of dress in vogue in 
the fourteenth century. The courtiers have pointed 
caps with feathers, and wear doublets and hose. 
Louis, himself, seems to wear something very like a 
striped football sweater, which he is trying to pull 
down. He has long locks trailing on his shoulders 
and wears a French beard like John's (only Louis's 
looks as if it needed the services of a tonsorial 
artist). 

"To go back to John. He's gone off to attend to 
our cabin — we leave to-night. But first we are to 
go to the Piazza to hear the music; of course, Bela 
will meet us there. I'm sure I wish he wouldn't, for 

83 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

I'm just a wee bit afraid of him. He devours me so 
with his eyes, and I know John is a little jealous. He 
gave me an awful scolding when we got back to the 
hotel. He said he was ashamed of me; I was so 
'boisterous and slangy.' Me — slangy! I never was 
so indignant in my life. 'I'll have you know, John 
Roland, that I am too much of a lady to talk slang,' 
I told him, but he was mulish and declared I had said 
a lot of things which were just common slang and 
nothing else. I told him that in future I would not 
offend him by being 'too emphatic,' that I should 
say, 'I hope that you will consider what I say is 
quite veracious,' instead of 'believe me' — if he con- 
sidered that slang. And as to being happy and en- 
thusiastic, I never will be again! I will never smile 
at anything, I'm determined. No matter how 
glorious the sunset or how splendid anything is, I 
shall be just one of those limp, lifeless creatures who 
say things are 'quite nice.' Oh, those kill- joys who 
never enthuse over anything! 

"But I wonder if I really did act a little too lively 
— and I'd hate to sound slangy! Poor John, I sup- 
pose I mortified him to death! I'm ashamed of 
myself, I'm certainly old enough, as he says, 'to know 
how to behave myself properly.' He told me I was 
'an inebriate, intoxicated with happiness.' But who 
can blame me — for being drunk with the joy of liv- 
ing? How can I act staid and look lugubrious, I'd 

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MORE TREASURES OF ZARA 

like to know, when John and I are off honey-moon- 
ing, like a couple of frisky little sparrows in spring- 
time! Of course, John isn't really frisky, ever; but 
then I hop about and chirp and twitter enough for 
the two. Ah! well, I'm sorry I misbehaved and 
mortified him. I shall try my best to be more sedate 
and dignified in future — I really will. But, it is so 
hard to help feeling happy and showing it, when I 
fairly tingle with the joy in my veins. When every 
fleecy cloud in the blue sky, every dancing wave in 
its foamy cap, every breeze that kisses my cheek, all 
bring me the same message — God's message which 
all nature sings aloud in a great chorus of praise and 
gladness. The message that He made the world 
beautiful for us to enjoy it, and made us to be happy! 
I hear John's voice in the hall! I must look glum, 
and be moping when he comes in. I'm determined 
never again to be light-hearted and happy. 'Never 
again ! 



85 



V 
SEBENICO AND HER FAMOUS "GIORGIO" 

"Here yet! Can't go now till to-morrow," so 

runs on my diary of midnight. "I hate Z and 

everything in it! As for John Roland, I know I 
shall never, never love him again as I once did. 
We've had an awful quarrel — and just because I 
laughed. Of course, I shouldn't have laughed, but 
how could I help it, when he howled and jumped 
about on one foot so ridiculously? It all happened 
because his watch was slow and we stayed too long 

in the Piazza with B , listening to the music. 

J was simply hateful. Declared it was all my 

fault — that I made him stay, so I could flirt and 
carry on with that black-eyed lady-killer. He has 
only himself to blame. I had to talk so that the 

captain would not discover how disagreeable J 

can be, when he tries. Then, too, B had been 

so kind and obliging. I thought, as we'd never see 
him again, I should, at least, be pleasant. 

"When J found out his watch was slow (I 

suppose that was my fault, too), we had to say good- 
by and tear back to the hotel for our traps, and 
make a rush for the boat. J dashed up the 



SEBENICO AND HER FAMOUS "GIORGIO" 

stairs in front of me. As he reached for the lamp, 
in the dark, he stumbled over the suitcases. Next 
moment, down came that wretched box with a crash 

upon his toes! J roared, and hopped about in 

the killingest way, saying every bad word he knew ! 
It had really hurt him terribly, but that 'dear box,' 

as we now call it (altho J says that d dear 

box would be better), after such a hard fall wasn't 
fazed a particle! Getting off the Brioni it jabbed 

J and bruised his knee. It has been a constant 

nuisance and made lots of trouble, for it insists upon 
colliding with everything we pass. Now, it has al- 
most broken his instep, the hateful, detestable thing! 

Got lamp lighted while J stormed and raged. 

Threw our things into suitcases and ready to go in 

five minutes. J called porter, told him to bring 

box and larger suitcase, while he limped along as 
quickly as he could with the other. (I had the um- 
brella, my hand-satchel, and the jacket to my suit — 
always have to wear it, or carry it, for can't get 

it in the bags. Besides, had a huge bouquet, B 

insisted upon buying me.) J 's foot hurt 

awfully. Limped badly, and we had to walk so 
slowly, deathly afraid would miss boat; but didn't. 

Rushed aboard just in time; but, when J settled 

with porter, discovered he had only my suitcase — that 
dear, beloved box had been left in our room at hotel! 
(I, myself, had carefully removed it out of J 's 

87 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

sight as quickly as I could — he was so furious — and 
put it in the closet. And, of course, that fool porter 
never stopt to look for it; but simply grabbed up the 
baggage he saw, and followed us.) There was noth- 
ing to do but to let the steamer go, and return to 
hotel. For we couldn't go without that box! All 

the way back J did nothing but scold. Harped 

on everything disagreeable he could. Went back to 
the morning; began all over again, about how I 
'had acted like a fool,' and talked 'slang.' 'What 
did I say that was so awful?' I asked him, trying 
my best not to get mad, for I knew his foot pained 
terribly. 'All kinds of unladylike, slangy things. 
You told that fellow 'the American husband is the 
"best yet!" and "couldn't be beat" the whole world 
over! and a lot more of stuff like that.' 

"At that, I confess, I lost my temper! I told him, 
'Next time I will talk slang, since I get the credit of 
it. Real slang ! I'll say : "Just you take it from me, 
kid, the American man has bats in his belfry! He's 
simply N. G. — like my husband !" That's slang, and 
it is the real truth, too, John Roland — you mean, 
hateful thing!' Then, of course, I had to begin to 

boohoo. At once, J forgot all about his foot 

and everything else, trying to prevent the hotel people 
from hearing me. He shut the door and closed all 
the windows — as hot as it was — and begged me not 
to cry (but I only cried the harder). Then he gently 



SEBENICO AND HER FAMOUS "GIORGIO" 

took from me my coat and umbrella, hobbled over to 
the closet, and opened the door. There sat that dear 
box, absolutely grinning at us! Grinning to see poor 

J limping from his encounter with it, and poor 

me, with a hideous red nose, sobbing and crying fit 
to break my heart ! And all on account of the misery 

and trouble it had deliberately concocted. J 

looked at it for a minute or so, in silence. Then he 
came over to me, very slowly, and said, in that soft, 
irresistibly tender way he has: 'Girlie, don't let that 
miserable box ruin our whole trip. It has caused 
trouble enough, already. I'm sorry for what I said. 
You are the dearest little wife in the world — I 
wouldn't have you any different, and you know it!' 
'And — I didn't act — a bit boisterous — or flirt — with 
that fellow — or talk slangy — or — or do anything un- 
refined — and — unladylike?' He kissed me, and said 
of course I hadn't. He was just cross, because his 
foot hurt him. So I had to make up ; but I took care 
to go over and lock that closet door (I didn't want 
any more trouble from that mischief-making box). 
Altho I have forgiven J , I can't forget the un- 
kind and untrue things he said about me. He has 
cured me forever of being 'hilarious and slangy!' I 
promise him. I'm going to let him see how he likes 
a 'kill-joy' woman — one of those stiff-and-prim, 
prunes-and-prisms creatures — who say 'y-e-s,' and 
'n-o,' and take no delight in anything. I shall begin 

89 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

by having 'a split-ting headache!' (They always 
have something like that!)" 

On the Baron Gautch, before we reached Sebenico, 
our next stop, an accident happened. We were on 
deck, with our chairs close to the rail, watching the 
deck-hands unloading great bundles of crooked iron 
spikes — which looked exactly like huge jack-straws. 

Couldn't imagine what they were for, so had J 

inquire. (Learned they were for constructing the 
barricade of a new fort, somewhere back in the 
country.) Just as the last bundle of irons was safely 
slid to the wharf, the dinner-gong sounded. Ran 
down quickly to smooth my hair. (Blond hair when 
it's curly is pretty — but such an awful nuisance!) In 
my haste completely forgot that maliferous — no, I 
mean malevolent, box. It was eagerly waiting for 
me; took a nasty, ragged bite out of the ruffle of my 
only silk petticoat, as I stumbled over it. Wrenched 

my wrist badly, too, when I clutched at J 's berth, 

to keep from falling. But, of course, I know better, 

now, than to say a word to J about it. That 

box is a topic which it is better to cut — -I mean, omit, 
entirely. 

While sweltering in the stuffy little cabin, trying 
to darn my skirt and almost crying with vexation 
(for J says I'm always late), the accident hap- 
pened. He got up to see what detained me — altho 

90 



SEBENICO AND HER FAMOUS "GIORGIO" 

he might have known it was the box — when the 
armful of things he carried began to totter. Before 
he could prevent it, my precious note-book slid off 
the Baedeker and went sailing over the rail! It was 
big and bulky, for I bought the largest I could find, 
with a splendid pocket for our maps, and enough 
pages for all the data for each place, and space left 
for anything extra I wished to add. I had written 
my diary in it, every day, but fortunately — in Venice 

— I wrote so much, and as J always needed the 

book when I had it, he went off and bought me a 
fine new one. Now, I'm glad of it. But nothing 
can console me for the loss of all the data I took such 
care to prepare before we left home. 

As the steamer was in motion, J could do 

nothing but watch the book helplessly, as it fell 
with a splash and sank from sight. I had arranged 
everything under proper headings, so on arriving 
at a place we knew just where to go and what to 

see. J was terribly upset. He hated to have 

to tell me. But I only said just as indifferently as 
I could, altho I had to gulp a little, "It doesn't 
matter. I'm tired of these stupid little Dalmatian 
places — they are all just alike." Without another word 
I walked away, asi stiff and prim as you please 

(leaving J perfectly aghast). At table every 

one was talking about the accident. J said, 

now that the book was gone, he supposed it would 

9i 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

"grow in size and importance until it contained a 
whole library of priceless information." He even 
attempted a witticism, saying that now the fish 
caught in the Adriatic would have "bigger heads" — 
as the result of "feeding on the intellectual food" 
found in my note-book. I didn't even deign to 
look up from my soup. The joke fell perfectly 

flat, and J looked just as uncomfortable and 

unhappy as I intended he should. 

So, on arriving at Sebenico (instead of turning to 
it in my book, and having the sights perfectly mapped 
out) we had to rush about madly, wasting both time 
and effort. Fortunately, we were able to stay a 
sufficient length of time to get our wits together, or 
we would have accomplished nothing. Not knowing 
where the cathedral was, we started off up the hill 
toward the first church-steeple we saw. After toiling 
up the heights, on reaching the door we found it was 
only an uninteresting little modern building in course 
of construction — filled with plaster-barrels and plaster- 
ers. John talked and talked, but I was entirely non- 
committal except to complain of the sun and the 
heat; the rough roads and the dirt; the sore-eyed 
children and the slatternly women; and everything 
else I could think of as a cause for a new com- 
plaint. Without stopping to breathe, off again we 
started in the broiling sun. Up, up, up we labored, 
going through an endless chain of crooked, filthy 

92 





SEBENICO 

GENERAL VIEW OF CITY 
PICTURESQUE PEOPLE 



SEBENICO AND HER FAMOUS "GIORGIO" 

lanes, roughly paved with cobblestones, and foul- 
smelling. Often, after a walk in the blazing sun, we 
reached a shaded place between the walls, only to 
find it so reeking with filth that we were glad to 
hurry on again into the sunshine. (I, myself, was 
feeling hateful, and so, naturally, all Sebenico was 
as disagreeable and ugly as I was. ) I saw nothing but 
dirty, ragged children with sore eyes and blotchy 
faces; the women were untidy and disheveled, and sat 
around nursing babies and gossiping, with an utter 
disregard for their unkempt appearance. We noticed 
a number of women and girls who sat on stones 
along the wayside, embroidering, with eyes utterly 
unprotected from the blinding glare of the sun. 
They were making the tops of gorgeous Dalmatian 
caps, and several were at work upon the wonderful 
aprons they all apparently delight in, notwithstand- 
ing how hot and uncomfortable such heavy and 
stiff garments must be in a warm climate. 

Having gone the wrong way, we found ourselves 
in a little stableyard which we had to recross, to get 
back again to the road. My feet hurt terribly, 
from walking over the rough stones, and we were 
both breathless and tired, from the hard climb. The 
road perpetually ascended and descended, until I 
thought we would never reach the top — but at last, 
utterly out of humor and disgusted with Sebenico 
and everything in it, we arrived at the fort called 

93 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

Sta. Anna. The view was magnificent — I had to 
shut my lips to keep from exclaiming with joy, it 
was so beautiful! Instead, I said nothing, but only 
complained how my feet hurt, and how the glare 
of the sun made my eyes ache! John asked if I 
didn't think the view worth the walk? But I un- 
graciously declared: "No view on earth would pay 
for such a disagreeable climb, through reeking lanes !" 
And the silly fellow thought I really meant it! 

Sebenico stretched below us with its old, old har- 
bor defended by hoary Fort St. Niccolo. Venice ruled 
here, when it was built, for over the gateway still 
stands a stone on which is seen a carving of St. 
Mark's lion. But we learned, later, it is not the 
original emblem — for the French under Napoleon 
threw that into the sea, when they were here in 1813. 
But later, the Austrian Government had a duplicate 
made of the carved stone which has reposed at the 
bottom of the harbor for exactly a century. John 
told me the story, and, in spite of myself, I forgot, 
and asked questions. We sat to rest on a rock, 
and he took off my shoe to see if a stone was hurting 

me. (The dearest thing about J is, that when 

he knows that I'm pretending, he pretends that he 
doesn't! That's why I fairly worship him; he's so 
different from other men, who are always hateful — 
just when their wives want to be!) He brushed off 
the sand and put back my tie (I wish I had left my 

94 



SEBENICO AND HER FAMOUS "GIORGIO" 

oxfords at home), then he took my hand, and petted 
me up. Said, how awful life was, when I felt so 
badly! I had to smile, and confess I was just trying 
to be "proper." "Be improper, then, girlie, for 
heaven's sake!" he exclaimed, so eagerly we both 
laughed. Then, all was serene again! 

As the ugly cloud was lifted from my heart, and 
we stood together, hand in hand, like two happy 
children, a new Sebenico lay before us! It was a 
Sebenico with lovely domes and turrets and darling 
little picturesque streets — funny, crooked streets, 
which looked as if they were playing tag down the 
hillside, darting here and there, running around 
quaint little houses, zigzagging through the town, 
until, at last, they jumped right off into the harbor! 
And there! right before our eyes, was the lovely 
duomo, lying almost at our feet, its famous dome 
shining in the sun! The very cathedral we had 
tried so hard to find, and now, here it was — beckon- 
ing us to come down and revel in all its treasures! 
But before we went into the town, we decided to 
visit the queer old cemetery just below the walls of 

the fort. J said his foot didn't pain much, 

and mine felt so much better, we fairly scampered 
down the hill. 

When we reached the iron gate of the cemetery we 
discovered it was locked. However, before we could 
turn away, a disheveled old creature, with two 

95 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

ragged youngsters tagging at her heels, came out of a 
nearby cottage, wiping a huge, rusty key on her 
ragged apron. (It was just a common gingham 
apron, so tattered and worn, so faded and dirty the 
rusty key couldn't hurt it.) Her sole adornment was 
a slinky blue cotton Mother Hubbard — I could see 
by the way it clung, she had nothing on under it — 
and her black hair hung in elf-locks over her face. 
But, poor soul, she tried to be nice; explaining in 
some sort of gibberish — which we couldn't understand 
at all — all about the different graves. She took us 
out on top of a kind of terrace, formed by the tops 
of rows and rows of tombs, and pointed to the 
inscriptions; but we couldn't read them. Then she 
took us to the side wall, and pointed down to some 
neglected graves, overgrown with brambles, and with- 
out headstones, but we couldn't make out what she 
tried to tell us. It may be they were the graves of 
Sebenico's Moslems — not permitted to sleep in the 
churchyard — but probably not. No Turk is so poor 
he hasn't a turban of wood or stone upon his grave, 
to show he was a male. It will be hard for such 
people to find there is no sex in heaven. (It will 
serve them perfectly right, too, for it's quite absurd 
for men to be proud, and lord it over us all their 
lives, for something which is a mere accident; just 
fate, or luck — or whatever you choose to call it!) 
Maybe it was resting up, or cooling off, or just 

96 



SEBENICO AND HER FAMOUS "GIORGIO" 

because we had "made up," but one thing is certain, 
Sebenico, from being everything that was horrible, 
hot, dirty, uninteresting, had become just the oppo- 
site! We both recovered our good humor and I 
felt as if my feet trod upon air. The breeze came up 
to us from the sea, and we sang as we went down 
the hillside — both of us happy as every one ought to 
be when they are young, when it is summer time, and 
when they love each other! I'm never, never going 
to be bad again. I really believe I did act a little too 

vivacious with B . Maybe some one who doesn't 

understand just how awful real slang is, might think 
what I say is slangy. So I'm going to be more care- 
ful. Yes, more careful about everything! I'm glad 
we've seen the last of B— — . Toward the last I was 
really a little afraid of him — he devoured me so with 
his eyes. He told me his mother was an Italian — 
that accounts for his ardent glances! I wouldn't 
give J a heartache for the admiration of a mil- 
lion Belas. I admit I did smile at him and tried to 
make him like me; but I certainly did not flirt with 
him. I never really flirted with any one in my life. 
I'd die of mortification if I thought he thought I 
acted "fresh," and as for talking slang — I simply 
couldn't be so unladylike even if I tried. But, as 

J says, sometimes I am a wee bit too vivacious. 

"Not a beenie" (as a girl at school said, trying to 
show off her Latin) — I've made up my mind to stop 

97 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

trying to save space by cutting out the "a's" and 
"the's" and abbreviating people's names. My poor 
diary is a perfect "sight !" It is such a scrawl and so 
jerky I can hardly read it myself. 

Sebenico, some of its citizens claim, is Sicum, an 
ancient Roman colony, but the more exact authorities 
shatter this claim to antiquity. For they prove it 
was founded by bandits; piratical bandits who built 
a fort upon the heights and watched for ships to 
come, so they could go out and plunder them. After- 
ward they formed a colony upon the shore protected 
by a barricade or "sibue," from which the name is 
supposed to be derived. The town has a fine harbor 
and upon the hills are three time-worn fortresses 
which still look down protectingly upon the little city 
which snuggles at their feet. The highest of Se- 
benico's hills is crowned with a picturesque old castle 
fort known as St. Giovanni. It was constructed in the 
early part of the seventeenth century. From a distance 
the frowning old fortress looks grim and formidable, 
but to-day it merely adds a romantic touch to the land- 
scape, for its days of usefulness in warfare are past. 

Fort Barone, its neighbor, is now all in ruins. 
This fort was named for a heroic baron who suc- 
cessfully defended the city against twenty thousand 
Turks in the days of long, long ago. The third 
fortress is Sta. Anna. While it is not upon as lofty 

98 



SEBENICO AND HER FAMOUS "GIORGIO" 

a height as its companions — being built upon the 
crest of the gray hill just above the town — still its 
situation is charming. From the shadow of its time- 
mellowed stone bastions a lovely view is secured of 
the town, the fine land-locked harbor, and of the 
winding little channel which connects it with the sea. 

On our way down to the cathedral we passed 
through the most bewildering, but quaint and pic- 
turesque alleys, so crooked and narrow they strongly 
reminded us of the "calli" in our beloved Venice. 
Everywhere we saw charming reminders of the old 
Venetian domination, windows and doorways of ex- 
quisite Venetian Gothic and early Renaissance; 
houses, many of which still showed the heraldic de- 
signs of the noble families who once dwelt here, 
whose very names are now forgotten. 

Sebenico has an adorably quaint little Piazza del 
Duomo with a long, double-arcaded loggia built right 
against the hillside. Now, alas! the lower story has 
been converted into a cafe, and the upper story is 
used as a reading-room and social club. 

I delighted in the belfry of the little Greek church. 
The three bells each hang in their own arches ; the two 
lower bells hang side by side and have exquisitely 
carved stone balconies, which look exactly as if they 
should be seen on the front of some palazzo on the 
Grand Canal. Imagine the din when the unfortunate 
bell-ringers have to stand in the balconies and ring 

99 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

the bells, by striking them with the huge clappers 
hanging just over their heads! 

The costumes of the Sebenzani (I think that is the 
way Jackson writes it) are less gorgeous than those 
seen in Zara. To tell the truth, the people we saw 
in the outskirts of the city wore very ordinary loose 
cotton blouses and checked aprons, while many we 
noticed, altho they were busily stitching gay caps 
and gaudy aprons for festa or Sunday wear, were 
clad in most slatternly Mother Hubbards. From 
their untidy, flip-floppy appearance they showed they 
wore no superfluous, garments, and, evidently, cared 
nothing for "a straight- front" effect. 

But in the Piazza there were lots of people who, 
we saw at a glance, were of a better class, and all of 
them were at least decently clothed, which is more 
than I can say of the denizens of the squalid cottages 
on the heights in the vicinity of Sta. Anna. To-day, 
alas, there are no longer any patricians in Sebenico. 
All have passed away. Sebenico is a Croatian city 
and its people are dark and swarthy, resembling 
Spaniards in appearance, and in disposition as well, 
it is said, being quick-tempered and easily provoked 
to deeds of violence. Then, too, the population being 
of mixed blood, and many of them of Morlacchi ex- 
traction, they are almost uncivilized, and still bear 
some of the traits of those old pirates and free- 
booters from whom, I suppose, many are descended. 

ioo 



SEBENICO AND HER FAMOUS "GIORGIO" 

The Morlaks here were particularly fierce and savage 
looking. They lacked the picturesqueness of those 
we had seen in Zara, and few, indeed, were adorned 
with the filigree silver buttons and ornaments, the 
gay jackets and blue trousers which made Zara's 
Piazza look like a stage-setting — reminding us of a 
scene in the "Bohemian Girl." The peasants were 
gaunt and scowling, half-savage looking bandits, with 
ragged black elf-locks straggling over their weather- 
beaten faces, of whom we could readily believe the 
tales we heard. 

It seems the Morlacchi still believe in witches, 
fairies and terrible vampires who return from the 
grave to sit upon helpless infants and suck their 
blood. We were told that to-day, among some of 
them, the old practise of girls being carried off" by 
their suitors with their own consent (to "escape the 
attentions of undesired swains," as it is explained), is 
still of common occurrence. After a few weeks, or 
months, the couple return, and the belated ceremony 
is performed. It is just the new idea of "trial mar- 
riage"— which has been an old fact with these half- 
civilized people for centuries. They naturally treat 
women as inferiors, and never speak of a wife with- 
out apologizing. They dwell in miserable primitive 
huts, without any opening but the door; huts said to 
be always reeking with smoke and filled with vermin. 
If there is a bed, the man sleeps on it, while his wife 

IOI 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

sleeps on the floor. Or, it frequently happens that 
both sleep out of doors, lying on the ground, each 
wrapt in a coarse, homespun goat's-hair blanket. It is 
amusing to know that some of the Morlacchi still are 
terribly afraid of snakes, and believe in firing guns 
and ringing bells to scare off witches, and use con- 
juring to exorcise the "malefik" storm-demons. 

The women have a queer custom of plaiting in a 
strip of white cloth with the strands of their hair, 
and wrapping the braid round and round on the tops 
of their heads, forming a kind of turban. Some- 
times over this they place a "panno," or pad, with an 
end which dangles down their backs. All this is done 
with no thought of its becomingness. Poor souls, 
they are no better than the beasts of the field — and 
that is just what they really are, only they are the 
burden-bearers of the human family, as well. The 
headdress is designed to help them carry the 
enormous bundles they »bear upon their heads. As a 
result of this combination of cloth and hair, we 
noticed the women grow horribly bald, even before 
they are gray. The Sebenico men wear the funniest 
kind of collar on their jackets. It is a border of 
wool, either red or black, like trie crocheted tops we 
work on bedroom slippers, formed of loops of wors- 
ted. It is supposed to resemble lamb's wool, and 
to be ornamental! 

As we had wasted so much precious time meander- 
102 



SEBENICO AND HER FAMOUS "GIORGIO" 

ing around upon the heights, we were forced to 
leave the Piazza with its most interesting throngs 
and enter the duomo long before we should have 
done so, had we had more time. For there is always 
much to see of special attractiveness in the piazzas of 
each Dalmatian town; piazzas often most truly called 
"the city's heart." 

Just as Zara and "maraschino," the liqueur made 
from the kernel of the wild-cherry — the drink which 
made Zara famous — are almost synonymous terms, 
so is Sebenico noted particularly for two of her 
products. The first is a very delicious fish, "dentili 
della corona" — so named on account of the mark like 
a crown upon its head — which is only caught in the 
harbor of Sebenico and its vicinity. The second and 
greater cause for the city's fame is the fact that here 
lived and labored her celebrated son, Giorgio Orsini, 
or George of Sebenico, as he is better known. 

The real truth is that Giorgio was born at Zara, 
and studied architecture and the sculptor's art in 
Venice; but, on account of his having lived and died 
in Sebenico, and as the duomo, his great masterpiece, 
to which he owes his greatest celebrity is here, he is 
known to-day as George of Sebenico rather than as 
"Georgius Matthaeus Dalmaticus," as his name ap- 
pears upon the old contracts for work, still sacredly 
preserved. 

The most charming part of the story about this 
103 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

famous artizan is, that it is a "truly, really story." 
The accounts of George taken in connection with his 
work here in the duomo — and at Spalato and Ragusa, 
as well (which we will enjoy later on) — bring back 
the man; the flesh and blood Giorgio, who closed his 
eyes forever way back in the year of our Lord 1475. 
He was called away, and had to lay aside his busy 
chisel before his great life work was completed, but 
his name still lives, after almost four and a half cen- 
turies. Of the famous cathedral associated with his 
name, Jackson says : "It is worthy to rank with any 
Italian work of its date and class that I know, and 
tho there are churches as beautiful on the other side 
of the Adriatic, it would be difficult to match it in 
singularity of construction. Indeed, not only Italy 
but Europe may be challenged to show another 
church of this size in which neither timber nor brick 
is employed, everything being constructed of good 
squared stone, marble and metal." 

I confess that neither John nor I know very much 
about "wagon-roofs" or shafts which the archeolo- 
gists tell us are "Monoliths without entasis, resting 
on Attic bases with angle leaves, or toes." But even 
without a knowledge of its technical perfections we 
could agree with Dr. Neal, who declares the cathedral 
to be "the most striking and most Christian of all 
Dalmatian churches." Having been built entirely of 
marble and stone, it has withstood the centuries. It 

104 



SEBENICO AND HER FAMOUS "GIORGIO" 

is built in the shape of a cross, and has Giorgio's 
famous Renaissance stone dome. But, unlike almost 
every other cathedral with a stone-vaulted ceiling, it 
has no outer roof of either timber, tiles, or lead. 

The doors of the cathedral are particularly famous. 
The one at the eastern end of the side wall is the 
most magnificent. At least the authorities, whose 
word is law about such things, say so. To me, the 
hideous lions on low pedestals which guard each 
side of this, the famous "Lion's Doorway," were 
simply atrocious, but even less awful than the horri- 
ble representations of our "First Parents," standing 
on the top of the slender columns coming out of 
their backs. Both Adam and Eve wear nothing but 
the proverbial "fig leaves." Over their heads are 
niches held up by spiral columns. In these "taber- 
nacles" are figures of saints almost as large as the 
"first pair" themselves, which gave a rather top- 
heavy effect, I thought. But the molding of carved 
leaves around the doorway is exquisitely done, and 
the delicately arabesqued columns twisted and fluted, 
which support each side, are worthy of much more 
time than we were able to spare them. 

The west door, with its scroll work and pinnacled 
canopies, as well as this Lion's Doorway, were the 
work of a celebrated Venetian sculptor, Antonio, 
who is believed to have been a son of Pietro Paolo 
of Venice, who designed and constructed the beauti- 

105 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

ful choir-screen in St. Mark's Cathedral. Antonio's 
work here in Sebenico is said to resemble in many 
of its characteristics the work done by Peter Paul, 
his famous father. But notwithstanding his beautiful 
designs, his lovely scrolls and wealth of fanciful 
decorations, he couldn't suit the church authorities; 
for they became dissatisfied with him and his work 
and sent him off. Then it was that Giorgio, the 
famous "George of Sebenico," was invited to come 
from Venice and finish the duomo. 

First, I must tell you Giorgio's romantic history. 
No weird, fabulous tale this time, but a plain, matter- 
of-fact account; we know every word is true. It 
seems that his father, Matteo, was of the patrician 
and princely family of Orsini, but hard times had 
fallen upon his branch, and he had been reduced in 
fortune so that he had been forced to support him- 
self and his family by doing manual labor — some- 
thing utterly out of keeping with his illustrious 
patronymic, which he most sensibly ceased to use. 
So Giorgio, altho an Orsini, was brought up "to 
work for his living" as an architect and builder, and 
early in life acquired great skill as a sculptor. He 
was a good-looking, brown-eyed young man when 
he succeeded in winning the heart of a fair Venetian 
maiden, named Elizabetta da Monte. Elizabetta was 
not only fair, but brought Giorgio a fair dowry, 
which he lost no time in making the most of. We 

1 06 



SEBENICO AND HER FAMOUS "GIORGIO" 

know that when he was called to Sebenlco, he became 
a citizen, and while himself working on his famous 
duomo, set Elizabetta's money working, too. He 
most wisely invested in a grocery store, which he 
ran on shares with two partners, and also had an in- 
terest in a merchant ship which brought them in 
goodly returns. 

But the funds for building the great cathedral ran 
out — as so frequently happened in those old days. 
To obtain more funds, a tax of one-tenth of the 
amount of wine produced by each vineyard was 
levied, but it took twenty-six long years before suffi- 
cient money was secured to go on with the work. 
During all these years of waiting, Giorgio apparently 
never lost heart. He was now in Venice, then in 
Spalato, next we hear of him as working at Ancona, 
and finally as the rebuilder of a beautiful building in 
Ragusa, the famous Rector's Palace which had been 
destroyed for the second or third time by an ex- 
plosion and fire in 1462. It is pleasant to know that 
Elizabetta not only took care of the house and chil- 
dren while Giorgio was away from home, but that 
she was a good business woman as well. The old 
records preserved in Sebenico show that her hus- 
band intrusted -her with a power of attorney — or 
whatever it may then have been called — by which 
she was able to attend to his affairs while he was 
absent. The venerable Bishop of Sebenico has writ- 

107 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

ten a book about the great duomo, and in it he gives 
the whole story of the man whose architectural 
genius and sculptural art have made it famous. But, 
were there no historian to do him honor, Giorgio's 
marvelous skill with the mallet and chisel would have 
left his name carved in imperishable stone, not only 
here in Sebenico, but in Spalato and Ragusa as well. 

Knowing about Giorgio, himself, we took the 
greater interest in his work in the duomo. Authori- 
ties claim that he took first rank in boldness of de- 
sign and originality of conception. Antonio's great 
speciality was wonderfully intricate carving. He 
indulged in a wealth of detail, and this weakness for 
lavish display angered the building committee. 
But Giorgio, too, certainly gave free rein to his 
fancy: His moldings and cornices are a mass of 
intricate detail. In the interior of the transept, we 
particularly admired the little boys holding garlands. 
On the capitals are wreaths and birds, and bunches 
of grapes. I was overjoyed to recognize as Giorgio's 
work the same designs repeated on the renewed 
capitals of the loggia in front of the Rector's Palace 
in Ragusa. 

Giorgio Orsini lived to become famous. By his 
own and his good Elizabetta's frugality and common 
sense he was able to amass much of this world's 
goods. The Sacristan of the duomo kindly took us 
to the little street called the Contrada St. Gregorio, 

108 



SEBENICO AND HER FAMOUS "GIORGIO" 

just beyond the Piazza, to see the home of this 
famous man. But alas, only the doorway now re- 
mains of the house which "Michele Simeonich, a 
nobleman of Sebenico, sold to Giorgio Orsini for 
two hundred golden ducats of just and good weight," 
in the month of June and the year 1455. 

On the lintel of this old doorway is carved a bear, 
the heraldic emblem of the great house of Orsini — 
carved, no doubt, by George's own hand, over this 
door through which he must have passed so often. 
The bear holds between his teeth a cord finished with 
a dainty tassel. In his paws he holds a festoon of 
laurel leaves. On each side of the jamb, Giorgio 
has proudly shown the humble mallet and chisels of 
his art, entwined with flowers, and held in place by 
a continuation of the same cord, which wraps the 
laurel, finished off with large and graceful tassels. 
All the world may see how the sculptor (while 
modestly eschewing his famous name) mockingly 
joined onto the ends of the Orsini laurel the plebeian 
symbols of his despised labor. Only the common 
tools of an artizan, but the mallet and chisels to 
which the great house of Orsini owes its most en- 
during fame. 

But while poor Giorgio did not live long enough to 
complete his work, the great duomo was finished by 
his pupils and after his own original plans. 

In the year 1540, just sixty-five years after the 
109 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

sculptor's death, his grandson, Giacomo, an advocate 
by profession, was formally recognized as a bona- 
fide Orsini. I wish that Giorgio himself might have 
lived to finish his work, and that he, instead of his 
grandson might have been recognized as an Orsini! 
But it was not to be. In any case, no one would ever 
have heard of James Orsini, the lawyer, were it not 
for the fact that he was descended from the famous 
artizan, George of Sebenico. 



no 



VI 

TRAU, AND HER PATRON SAINT 

"A terrible thing has happened," so again runs 
the diary. "I'm so excited I can hardly write. There 
is a crowd of the oddest-looking people in the steer- 
age, and as I was standing by the rail looking down 
on their deck, a horrid-looking creature caught my 
eye. He was a beetle-browed ruffian with one of 
those ridiculous Dalmatian caps, the size of a butter- 
plate, cocked on one side of his head, and he wore a 
huge pair of blue trousers, so full and saggy in the 
seat they reminded me of my blue denim laundry bag 
at home. As soon as he caught my eye he smirked 
and bowed to me. I couldn't imagine what he meant, 
until he held up a letter, grinning and beckoning that 
it was for me. A letter for me — from that horrible 
Bela man! I knew it in a moment. Oh, why, why 
did I smile at him? Why did I try to make him 
admire me? I might have known my tow-head and 
American vivacity would make trouble here, where 
the women are so — different. But what shall I do? 
How can I tell John, after having had so much 
trouble to convince him that he was entirely mis- 

iii 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

taken, and that I didn't flirt with B at all. Men 

are such absurdly unreasonable creatures. If I tell 
him about this letter, he will just seize upon it as 
proof that he was right. He'll say, 'You certainly 
did flirt with that man, or he would never have dared 
to write you!' I can just hear him say it. Oh! if 
I only had refused to take the note — but what else 
could I do? 

"The very moment I caught sight of that letter I 
flew to the other end of our deck where I knew the 
creature couldn't see me. I had almost forgotten 
about him when, turning suddenly, I found the horrid 
thing almost at my elbow, bowing and scraping, with 
a villainous leer on his face which gave me cold 
chills. Before I knew it, he had given me the letter. 
I didn't dare say a word, for just as I took it, one of 
the officers came up. He ordered the fellow to go 
below — for of course such scalawags are not allowed 
on our deck. Mumbling some excuse in Magyar, or 
Czech, or something I couldn't understand, he im- 
mediately slunk away. I didn't know which way to 
look. Just imagine what the second officer must have 
thought — if he saw that disgusting creature giving 
me a note! It was a good thing I had on my silk 
waist, for in a moment I had slipt the envelop into 
my sleeve. I know my face turned crimson, but he 
didn't seem to notice my embarrassment at all; and 
in a few minutes he went away. As soon as he was 

112 



TRAU, AND HER PATRON SAINT 

safely out of sight I snatched out the letter and tore 
off the envelop. 

"Just as I began to read — before I had had time to 
more than just glance at it — I saw, no I felt, John 
was approaching. He came up chatting with the 
captain. Before I really knew what I was doing, or 
what Bela said — for it was from him — in a sudden 
panic, I rolled the note up quickly into a tight wad 

and threw it with all my force over the rail. J 

didn't see me, for he only stopt a moment to say 
that he and the captain were going to have another 
game of chess. He explained that he wouldn't be 
gone long, and all that — altho he knows perfectly 
well just what an endless thing one of their games of 
chess always is — they are so evenly matched. But 
for once I was glad to get rid of him, so that I could 
get my wits together. When he was gone, I was 
almost wild to think I had been such a fool as to 
get panic-stricken and throw B 's note away be- 
fore I had even had time to read it. All I remember 
is that he wrote he 'would soon have the joy of 
seeing me again!' There was something about his 
hoping to meet me at either Spalato or Ragusa, I 
think, but I'm not quite sure which. He began very 
politely with 'My dear Mrs. Roland,' but I haven't 
an idea, now, how he signed himself, except that I 
remember I glanced at the signature, and 'Mastice- 
vich' ended with a huge flourish. Oh ! to think — to 

1 13 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

think that our splendid trip is to be ruined by a vain, 
conceited fool, who thinks I am in love with him. 
Girlie Roland, with an adorable American husband 
of her own, like Jo-John! Me — infatuated with a 
brainless jackanapes like him! O! what fools, what 
vain fools men are — all but John. He'd never be 
such a conceited puppy. 

"But what shall I tell J ? I know he'll be per- 
fectly furious — and he'll have a perfect right to be, 
too. Goodness only knows what he'll do, and say, 
for he is so punctilious. He'll be sure to think I 
have everlastingly disgraced myself, and the name 
of Roland. I simply must take time to think. I'm 
always 'too precipitate,' he says, and I 'jump at con- 
clusions!' This time I shall go slowly; I must think 
out just what it is best to say. It would only make 
matters worse to blurt out everything in my usual 
headlong way. He won't believe me. No sane man 
would believe me, when I say I don't remember what 
B wrote me; and yet can give no excuse what- 
ever for having thrown the letter away. Oh! dear, 
Oh! dear! what have I done to deserve all this? I 
know perfectly well that I only acted a little cute and 
vivacious, as any married lady — not an old fright — ■ 
would have done. I only did it to please John. A 
man always loves to have other men envy him — and 
how can they, unless they admire his wife, and think 
her charming? 

114 



TRAU, AND HER PATRON SAINT 

"And now this silly creature has gone and fallen 
head over heels in love with me. These foreigners 
are so absurdly emotional. Maybe he'll dog our 
steps all over Europe — and even take passage back to 
America with us on the Lusitania. I'm the most 
miserable woman alive! I can't tell John. I simply 
can't. I shall just wait before I say a single word, 
for some way out of the whole thing may suddenly 
occur to me. Anyway, it can do no harm to put off 
the evil hour as long as I can. I'm sure that miser- 
able Bela man said he'd try to meet me at Spalato or 
Ragusa. That won't be for three or four days, at 
least. I wonder how on earth he found out when we 
expected to be there? He surely must have gotten 

it out of J , for I'm sure — yes, absolutely sure — 

I never gave him the slightest inkling; altho he tried 
to make me, more than once. Maybe he really don't 
know our dates, but just guesses at our itinerary — 
for almost every one stops at Ragusa and Spalato. 
Maybe he will miss us, after all, and that will be 
the end of it. Of course, no one on earth will ever 
believe me, but I can most solemnly say I never gave 
the fellow the slightest encouragement — never! Being 
a sane woman I naturally couldn't help being con- 
scious of how he looked at me — of how he devoured 
me with his eyes; but, a cat can look at the queen. 
As mother always says, I am so vivacious, and my 
hair is so blond, and my eyes so blue, people always 

"5 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

look at me; so I must be much more careful than 
other girls, who are not so striking in their appear- 
ance. Now I'm sorry I wore my white lace waist — 
it's such a peek-a-boo — and as John says (or at 
least I know he thinks so), in my full white togs I 
really don't look a day over twenty. My duck skirt 
does fit like a dream, altho it is almost too snug for 
comfort when I walk. But, oh dear! I'll never put 
it on again. After this, I'll never try to look neat 
and trim and do John credit, any more. I've learned 
a lesson, a sad lesson, and one which I will never for- 
get while I live. But I must not lose my nerve, now. 
Maybe that wretch will miss us; so I shall do my 
very best to forget that he exists. Anyway, we will 
soon be at Trail, and he can't meet me there. I am 
going to be happy. Yes, I shall be just as happy as I 

can, for I must not let J guess a thing. No, not 

a single thing!" 

As soon as we steamed out of Sebenico's little 
winding channel we were right in the open sea. In 
a few minutes we rounded a rocky promontory 
known as Diomedis. I don't know what the name 
means, but it is a very dangerous point which has 
been famous, or infamous, for thousands of years 
for causing innumerable shipwrecks. High up on 
the rocks is a dear little votive chapel built by the 
pious captain of a wine lugger, in recognition of the 

116 



TRAU, AND HER PATRON SAINT 

Madonna having saved him from death in a terrible 
storm, brewed by the Bora, many years ago. The 
wine merchant was so grateful for his deliverance 
that he promised the Virgin a chapel upon the very 
spot. It is said in his religious fervor he set about 
carrying out his vow without a moment's unneces- 
sary delay, and in his enthusiasm used up his whole 
cargo of fine Malvasian wine to mix the mortar for 
his chapel. I think it is delightful to know that those 
pious Dalmatians always kept their promises in the 
old days, whether they do now, or not. Everywhere 
we go we hear stories of vows made, and no matter 
how poor the people were, or what they agreed to 
do, they seem always to have kept their word. 

Traii is an adorable little town. From the moment 
you see the Marina, with old Castel Camerlengo with 
its battlemented walls, you are charmed with it. 
Traii dates back so far, that many of the other 
ancient places seem to be almost modern, by com- 
parison. Strabo, the ancient historian, states dis- 
tinctly that it was founded by Greek Sicilians from 
the Island of Lissa, about the year 380 b.c. It was 
originally known as Tragurium, and afterward be- 
came a Roman colony. Pliny mentions it as having 
been noted in his day for fine marble, and Constan- 
tine — the Porphyrogenitus one — places Tragurium 
among the Roman cities he describes. He says it 
took its name from the isthmus on which it was situ- 

117 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

ated, being shaped like a watermelon. Other authori- 
ties, however, believe it was named for Troghilon, 
the city from which many of its Greek founders 
came. The melon-shaped peninsula no longer exists, 
having been cut through ages ago. So now Traii is 
on a little island joined to the mainland by a primi- 
tive wooden bridge. Just opposite the city is the 
adjacent island of Bua, which lies so close to its 
neighbor that our steamer docked in the middle of 
the stream between the two, and at the same time 
had a gangplank reaching out to each pier. 

For centuries the Huns, Franks, Byzantines, 
Genoese, Croats and Venetians fought over Traii, 
and early in the fourteenth century Venice secured 
the prize. In later times it again fell under the 
domination of Hungary, and in 1806 was taken by 
Napoleon's army. But the Austrians secured it in 
1 8 13, and Austrian it still remains. 

Like Rome, the city had seven gates, but of these 
only three now remain. The one close to the old 
fortress is called the Porta Marina. You can still 
see the ancient iron gates, hanging on their time-worn 
hinges, and over them the Lion of St. Mark continues 
to look down solemnly on the crowds below. This 
lion is famous. He differs from the ordinary speci- 
men for, altho he has the regulation wings and book, 
his book is not inscribed, "Peace to thee my Saint 
Mark, the Evangelist," as we often see it. His book 

118 



TRAU, AND HER PATRON SAINT 

of the law is now closed. It was open once, and so 
remained until the day when Venice lost her domin- 
ion. Then, when the sun rose next morning, people 
saw with amazement that the proud lion had closed 
his book, and shut it has remained to this day. 

It was a great pity to have this story spoiled, by 
being informed that the gate was built at a time 
when Venice was at war, and that is the reason why 
the book is shown closed. There are always dis- 
agreeable people around who delight to tell "the plain 
truth," iconoclasts who always have ready a bucket 
of cold water to dampen our enthusiasm, and spoil 
everything by a minute exposition of the facts in 
the case. Our informant was a most courteous, but 
punctilious old gentleman, whose one desire seemed 
to be to rob Trail of every vestige of romance. We 
lost no time in parting company with him, for fear 
he would ruin everything with his precise statements 
of the "real facts." I simply refused to believe a 
word of his story; greatly preferring the marvelous 
account of the lion himself, in high dudgeon, having 
closed his book. 

Why is it so many people are ever ready to wed 
themselves to ugly Fact, without even the faintest 
conception of the attractiveness of her young and 
charming sister, Fiction? Fact is a hideous, cross- 
grained old beldame, who would have us endeavor to 
find the exact dimensions of every sunbeam before 

119 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

we permit ourselves to bask in the sunshine; a cold, 
puritanical old crone, who would rob life of all its 
charm if only she could have her way; a sour and 
sordid old hag, ever ready to tear from young Ro- 
mance his lovely blue satin girdle, and his cap, with 
long, waving plumes, that she may clothe him in jean 
overalls, and substitute for his twanging guitar a 
pick and shovel. Plain Fact is plain, and unlovely. 
She would "cull the flowers of fancy" but only to 
make them of "some practical use" — served up as 
boiled spinach. I confess I cling fast to the lovely 
ideal and abhor the unlovely real — exactly as I pre- 
fer the perfume and beauty of flowers to the taste of 
boiled spinach. 

So, just as soon as I could, I got John away from 
the prosaic old gentleman on the Marina, who so 
kindly, but mistakenly, desired to enlighten us. I'm 
afraid I wasn't very cordial or polite to him; for I 
wasn't feeling particularly sunny, and his slow and 
painfully precise English wearied me, and made me 
feel actually cross. 

But the lovely Renaissance Porta St. Giovanni re- 
stored my good humor. It has a fine lion in an 
oblong panel over the arched gate, and on top is a 
life-sized statue of the good saint himself, holding 
his pastoral staff in one hand, his other raised in 
blessing. Below the figure, on each side of the gate, 
are two little lamps which burn perpetually in his 

120 



TRAU, AND HER PATRON SAINT 

honor. Most interesting of all is the little bush 
which has sprung up miraculously from between the 
stones at the feet of the lion, and almost hides him 
from view. Professor Eitelberger says the Mor- 
lacchi firmly believe the saint himself is responsible 
for the little cedar which has endured without soil 
for centuries, and that he has nourished and sus- 
tained it, "to hide from view the sign of the hated 
symbol of Venice." The color of the bush is always 
a sign of what the year is to be; for if it is fresh and 
green the harvest will be abundant, but if pale and 
yellow, the season will be poor for vineyards. 

My delight in the old gateway with its beneficent, 
wonder-working saint, the perpetually burning lamps 
and the bush-covered lion would have been great, 
only our exact friend of the Marina (who delighted 
in "facts") had taken the pains to inform us that 
the miraculously sustained little cedar was dead! He 
said it had died several years ago. "In May, 1906," 
to quote his words exactly. But I don't believe it. 
I won't! Even if it looks dead, I feel sure the old 
root between the stones, isn't. Some day it will again 
answer the call of the saint, and send up a shoot 
fresh and green to be kissed by the sun. Let us hope 
that this new little cedar will endure for still longer 
centuries, to do honor to the power of the saint and 
for the satisfaction of citizens of Trail, and the de- 
light of tourists. 

121 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

But if the closed book of the Porta Marina lion 
and the bush which concealed the lion on the Porta 
St. Giovanni were partly spoiled for me by our mis- 
guided friend — who really only wanted to use his 
good English, I suppose — still we got rid of him, 
fortunately, before he had time to rob anything else 
of its charm. Nothing in all Traii was to me more 
charming than the story of this very St. Giovanni 
who smiled down upon us so benignly from over the 
gateway. 

He was born in Rome, of that very "noble family 
of Orsini" — which repudiated our Giorgio, all his 
life, notwithstanding his talent, but which ac- 
knowledged his grandson, Giacomo, because he was 
a lawyer. But Giovanni was much more than a 
mere noble, he was a man of brains, not only an 
astronomer, a mechanician, and an engineer, but an 
all-round scientist. Wonderful things are told of 
him while he was still a young man living in Traii. 

It is said that the Traiirini, having heard of his 
great piety and learning, desired to have him for 
their bishop. All the city knew the story of how he 
had dismissed his servants, and how frugally he 
lived. The whole town rang with accounts of how 
he passed his days in constant fasting and prayer, 
and continually mortified his flesh by wearing a hair 
shirt, sleeping upon a couch of thorns, and doing all 
sorts of most uncomfortable things. His fame was 

122 



TRAU, AND HER PATRON SAINT 

great, and in 1064 he was duly made bishop of 
Traii. 

The ancient historian, Celio Cega, and Professor 
Eitelberger, both give detailed accounts of the 
miracles wrought by Giovanni. "Miracles of which 
science surely was utterly guiltless," Eitelberger 
frankly declares. The story is told that if Bishop 
Orsini only placed his hand on the wine-press, an 
abundant supply of wine immediately gushed forth. 
Once when there was a terrific storm, he walked out 
on the sea, and without wetting his feet rescued the 
entire crew of a shipwrecked bark. At another time 
he hurled a small stone from a sling, a la David, and 
demolished the battering-ram with which the foe 
were attacking the gates of the city, utterly routing 
the enemy and putting the foe to flight. But the 
final proof of his holiness is the prettiest story of all. 
It seems that one morning a beautiful snow-white 
dove entered the church, and after whirling about 
over the heads of the startled congregation, softly 
alighted upon the bowed head of the holy bishop who 
was saying Mass. 

It is small wonder, therefore, that Giovanni's fame 
increased after his death — which he himself had ac- 
curately foretold. "He died upon the thorns of his 
accustomed couch with the greatest sanctity." Most 
wonderful miracles took place — but what they were, 
most unfortunately, is not related. His sacred body 

123 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

was reverently placed in an ark or tomb, and care- 
fully preserved in the church. 

From over the Adriatic came the Venetians, in 
1171, and sacked the city. This time the marauders 
were under command of the Doge Vitale Michieli. 
They set an example of pillage and looting in the 
Christian city of Traii, which others, under Doge 
Dandolo, followed thirty years afterward in Zara. 

Searching for treasure, they carried off the ark of 
the bishop, and broke it open. Seeing a large and 
splendid ring upon the finger of the skeleton they 
tried to take it off, but the jewel miraculously re- 
sisted all efforts to displace it. Enraged at being 
unable to secure it, they tore off the whole arm of 
the bishop, and tossed the dismembered body on the 
shore. In spite of the manner in which they had 
acquired the precious relic, they took it back with 
them to Venice and enshrined it in the church of St. 
Giovanni di Rialto. And here it was kept, in spite 
of the most urgent entreaties of the Traiirini to have 
the missing part of their bishop restored to them. 
The answer returned to their appeal for the restitu- 
tion of their property only added insult to injury — 
for they were scornfully informed that "The relic 
receives greater honor in Venice than any which 
Traii can give it." 

But Giovanni himself, the Traiirini firmly believe, 
was not satisfied to have his holy body dismembered, 

124 



TRAU, AND HER PATRON SAINT 

for "he would be all their own." Consequently, on 
the anniversary of his festa, the stolen arm miracu- 
lously returned. A white object had been noticed 
"flying through the air," and shortly after, the miss- 
ing arm was discovered resting upon the top of the 
ark, "wrapt in a fine white linen cloth." As the dis- 
tance from Venice to Trail is considerable, even by 
aerial route, the linen covering was a wise precaution 
to insure the protection of the precious relic during 
its long and dusty journey. 

It is not surprizing that Giovanni was beatified 
twenty-one years later, for his fame as a wonder- 
worker had increased with the years. Of course, 
prosaic folks who "stick to plain fact" may prefer 
to believe that the stolen arm was returned by parcel 
post from Venice, by Doge Sebastiani Ziani, and 
that the bishop's canonization was "the reward given 
by Rome for his having supprest the Slavonic ritual 
in Trail, in favor of the Latin service of the Eternal 
City." But such hair-splitting need not bother us, 
for no matter why or wherefore, Giovanni Orsini, 
first Bishop of Traii, was beatified in the year 1192. 

But even in the twelfth century, apparently, there 
were jealous ecclesiastics and "doubting Thomases"; 
for it is recorded that a certain aged abbot openly 
questioned the propriety of having made a saint of 
the bishop, and he even dared openly to express his 
doubts of the beatified gentleman's sanctity and 

125 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

miraculous power. But he was soon convinced, and 
well punished, too; for he was stricken with palsy, 
and after that, neither churchmen nor laity ever cared 
to express any further doubts. After more than 
seven hundred years, St. Giovanni remains the patron 
saint of Trau, and still looks after the well-being 
and prosperity of his city and its faithful inhabitants. 

Judging from his kindly figure, which looks down 
benignly from the top of the old gateway, and from 
statues of him all over the city, St. Giovanni is not 
only a wonder-working saint, but in life had a 
charming personality. He must have been a worthy 
bishop and a splendid man. No wonder the Traurini 
love him . and reverence his memory. 

It is often said that while "the duomo is the pride 
of Trau, its western portal is the glory of all Dal- 
matia." This most famous doorway is entered 
through a splendid porch, or narthex, which forms 
a magnificent vestibule, adding much to the superb 
dignity of the church. The portico is technically 
known as a Galileo porch, and is really most beau- 
tiful, but I would have admired it more if it had not 
so darkened the doorway, with all its wealth of 
detail. We found it almost impossible to get a good 
photograph in the subdued light under it. Outside 
there was the most radiant sunshine, but within, the 
portico was only somber twilight. 

No one need expect fully to appreciate the duomo' s 
126 




TRAU 
lion's doorway of the cathedral 



TRAU, AND HER PATRON SAINT 

splendid door unless conversant with the whole Bible 
from "kiver to kiver." And they should have an 
acquaintance, too, with all the beasts, birds, and 
things, which came out of Noah's ark, if they desire 
to study understandingly its most diversified details. 
The ornate decoration of Antonio's door at Sebenico 
pales into insignificance before this wonderful speci- 
men of fertile fancy. 

On each side of the door are two lions on low 
pedestals, with Adam and Eve above them, as in 
Sebenico. These lions have manes like an Eliza- 
bethan ruff, and our first parents each stiffly hold 
their fig-leaves in place with their left hand, while 
Adam's right hand grasps his neck as if he had a sore 
throat, and Eve lays hers upon her heart, as if to say — 
like the leading lady in the melodrama — "Be still my 
heart." They really are so horribly medieval as to 
be funny. No sane person can doubt, after seeing 
them, that the human family has improved in ap- 
pearance — provided these figures are a good likeness 
of our progenitors. But the rest of the door is really 
fine. Jackson says: "The solemn splendor of the 
sumptuous western portal of the nave, the glory not 
of Trail only but of the whole province, is a work 
which, in simplicity of conception, combined with 
richness of detail and marvelous finish of execution, 
has never been surpassed in Romanesque or Gothic 
art." 

127 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

An imperfect inscription on the square lintel gives 
the date of the doorway as 1240. It has the semi- 
circular tympanum so universally seen in Dalmatia, 
this one showing the Nativity. It is very odd. In 
the central space, draped off by curtains, is seen 
(in the top picture) a sculpture showing the Virgin 
in bed with the holy Child beside her in a rude 
cradle, above which appear the heads of two animals, 
an ox and an ass. Over the Mother and Child hover 
angels; one of them holds up a star from which a 
flood of light streams down upon the Child. 

In the lower scene are two women, one of whom 
pours water into a tub in which the other washes 
the infant, while Joseph watches the performance 
with great interest. On each side of the curtained 
space are figures. On the left are shepherds and 
sheep, and on the right the three kings ride up to do 
homage. All this is contained just above the lintel 
of the door, in the tympanum alone. 

On the outside "order," in the middle of the 
sculptured bands, the subject is the Crucifixion, with 
the Virgin and St. John, which naturally has the 
position of greatest importance, the center of the 
arched band above the door. Taking the scenes de- 
picted in sequence, beginning at the bottom of one of 
the sculptured bands on the left, are : The flight into 
Egypt, the entry into Jerusalem, the marriage at 
Cana, the scourging of our Lord, the Resurrection, 

128 



TRAU, AND HER PATRON SAINT 

the casting out of devils, the baptism of Christ, and 
many other subjects "too numerous to mention," as 
the guide-books express it. 

I confess I would have failed to discover what 
many of the pictures were supposed to represent, had 
I not been told, for some of the sculptured scenes 
are very peculiar. For instance, the casting out of 
devils shows a figure, half -man, half -demon, with 
little wings growing out of his legs; while many of 
the carvings are imperfect, being badly defaced. 

On the outer jambs are three apostles on each side, 
in medallions formed of leaves and scrolls. Those 
on Adam's side of the door have each a halo, while 
those on Eve's have none. But two of her apostles 
make up for their lack in nimbi by having ornate 
little canopies over their heads. 

There are a bewildering number of animals shown 
on this famous "western portal." There are goats, 
sheep, elephants, rhinoceroses, flying horses, dolphins, 
and sea-serpents, beside weird scenes, showing a 
horrible creature of some sort swallowing a scroll, 
from which dangles the severed head of a man, a 
woman riding a bull with a serpent's tail, Pan with 
the horns, hoofs, and hide of a goat — to say nothing 
of wood-choppers, leather workers, and martial 
figures fighting with swords and shields, wild boars, 
savage lions, and other ferocious beasts. This, I 
think, is truly the most wonderful collection of sub- 

129 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

jects, both human and divine, I have ever seen 
carved upon one portal. Jackson, himself, declares 
it is "unsurpassed in marvelous finish of execution." 

No matter how hurried one's inspection of the 
doorway has to be, no one should fail to notice par- 
ticularly the queer scene showing the man cooking 
sausages. He holds a link of sausage in a ladle over 
a boiling pot with one hand, while with the other he 
extends a cup, in which another figure is pouring 
water — or maybe it is beer — to go with the string of 
cooked Wienerwursts which hang up on the wall be- 
hind them. I suppose it wasn't intended to be funny, 
but it is. No matter how tired or how weary you 
may be, I feel sure you will not be able to look at 
the man cooking sausages without a broad smile. I 
admit I laughed outright, in spite of the warning 
nudge John gave me, owing to the proximity of a 
number of pious Traurini. 

Notwithstanding the conglomeration of subjects, 
the western portal of the duomo is magnificently de- 
signed and the work is finished as if it had been 
carved in ivory instead of stone. It is believed that 
the whole doorway was the work of a Latinized Croat, 
named Radovan, whose name appears on the lintel, 
who "rivaled, if he did not surpass, the Romanesque 
artists of the other side of the Adriatic." The door 
originally formed the entrance to the royal chapel of 
the Croatian castle of Bihac, which afterward be- 

130 




TRAt) 

THE MARINA 
INTERIOR OF LOGGIA 



TRAU, AND HER PATRON SAINT 

came the palace of the Hungarian kings. It was 
situated about four miles outside of Traii, but was 
abandoned some time in the fourteenth century. To- 
day this splendid portal is all of the structure which 
remains. 

What shall I say of the interior of the duomo? 
How can I hope to express in words its somber mag- 
nificence, and how it imprest me? While in con- 
struction the cathedral is quite simple, the effect is 
massive and wonderfully imposing. It is dimly lit. 
Little light filters in through the shaded portals and 
deeply inset windows. 

As we stept within the great edifice, a profound 
solemnity seemed to envelop us — a solemnity and 
silence which we could feel. Unconsciously we spoke 
low, and trod softly. We were not conscious of the 
great stone arches which rose in majestic splendor 
far above us, nor of the long nave with its ponderous 
cross of lamps, which slowly swung to and fro, high 
above our heads. We did not see the magnificent 
baldacchino, with its lovely gabled roof, over the 
high altar; nor did we notice the intricately carved 
pulpit, and the double rows of old Venetian choir- 
stalls, altho they were right before us. 

The sunny Piazza outside, with its noise and 
crowds, was forgotten. I no longer was an Ameri- 
can sightseer, the very world had ceased to exist for 
me. My soul was touched by the sublime stillness, 

131 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

and the overpowering solemnity. A mist dimmed 
my eyes. I was silent. No longer conscious that I 
stood in the old cathedral at Traii, I only knew that 
this was the House of God — and that He was here! 
Humble and contrite I stole away to pray, as I 
had never prayed before. Thrilled with reverent 
awe, my eyes were blinded with tears, but I felt my 
soul uplifted with a great joy. 



132 



VII 

SPALATO, AND DIOCLETIAN'S PALACE 

Turning once more to the diary: "Trail was 
splendid ! Of course it was very different from Zara, 
but I liked it just as well. Everything was so inter- 
esting, I completely forgot all about that wretched 
Bela note. I didn't have to pretend to be happy — 
for I really was. It was quite a shock to have to 
realize that that Bela man has actually had the as- 
tounding impudence to write me. It seems so ab- 
surdly improbable — just like some silly nightmare. 
Oh ! how I wish I could believe I had simply imagined 
it. But anyway, I'm determined not to let it darken 
our trip. I shall treat him with freezing dignity, 
when he does come; I shall be distinctly polite, and 
merely languidly surprized to see him. I'm sure the 
very wisest thing I can do is to ignore utterly that 
note, and I shall ignore it, even in my thoughts. How 
I detest and loathe a conceited idiot who would dare 
to insult a lady by writing to her, simply because she 
was decently polite to him. Really and truly, I've 
racked my brains, but I can not remember a single 
thing I did or said which any sane man could even 

133 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

construe into giving him encouragement, let alone 
lead him to think I would permit him to follow me. 
Of course, I saw in his eyes his absurd infatuation, 
and it did amuse me; and while I admit he did 
squeeze my arm once or twice, still I wasn't conceited 
enough to think he meant anything by that. These 
foreign men, I know perfectly well, make love des- 
perately to every woman they meet, and the next 
moment forget she exists. Surely no woman can be 
blamed, just because a man makes a silly fool of 
himself! I do so wish that John wasn't so punc- 
tilious and absurdly 'proper,' for if he were a sensible 
man about such things, I never would have gotten 
flustered when I saw him coming and thrown that 
note away. But enough of regrets. Nothing really 
matters so long as my conscience is clear — and I 
know that I am not in the least to blame. But, 
sometimes, I really wish I was a brunette, and my 
hair wasn't curly; or that I was old, and fat! No, 
no, I must not say that — that is wicked. Then, too, 
it may come true, and all too soon! I wonder if 
John would love me if I had two or three chins, and 
waddled, instead of walked. 

"The duomo made me actually cry — it was so 
terribly somber and impressive. I felt so small, so 
insignificant and worthless, I was overcome, and the 
tears streamed right down my cheeks. I stole off 
by myself; I couldn't bear to have even John speak to 

134 



SPALATO, AND DIOCLETIAN'S PALACE 

me. It was so terribly solemn, I felt glad to go into 
the little chapel of St. Giovanni, their patron saint. 
It has a fine 'coffered ceiling' — which is a good name, 
for it looks exactly like rows of coffers or little 
paneled drawers. In the center of each is a cherub's 
head, with wings. In the middle space is a half- 
length figure of Christ holding an orb in his left 
hand, while his right is raised in blessing. There 
are a number of life-size figures of the Evangelists 
in niches around the wall, and above the altar, which 
stands out in the middle of the floor, is a white 
marble ark with twisted columns. 

"The ark is dated 1348, and it has an effigy of St. 
Giovanni on the lid. In it is carefully preserved the 
once mutilated body of the saint, and the ark is sus- 
pended high over the altar so that no modern vandal 
can reach it. Oh! I must not forget to mention the 
old organ, made by one of the brothers, whose name 
I have forgotten. The wings of this organ were 
painted by Giovanni Bellini. A new one was put in, 
in 1767, and since that time the wings have been 
placed on the first pier in the duomo, where they 
still are. Bellini it was who taught Titian, and 
painted his own portrait — which we saw in Rome. 

"The Piazza at Trail is lovely ! It has the duomo 
on one side and just opposite is the very finest loggia 
we have seen anywhere ! It has five white marble 
semi-circular steps leading up to it, exactly like the 

135 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

palaces on the Grand Canal. I remember that some 
one has said this loggia is one of the finest in all 
Dalmatia. It has two open sides and splendid 
columns, and the Byzantine work is particularly 
famous. The capitals are a mass of beautiful scrolls 
and leaves, so deeply 'under cut' that the design 
stands out like lace work. One end of the loggia, 
close by the side wall of the clock-tower, has on this 
wall a great stone slab covered with sculptures. The 
stone table and ancient seat where the judges sat are 
just under it. Altho the pavement and roof of the 
loggia have had to be repaired, the old sculptures on 
the wall above the time-worn seat are still unmarred. 
On the top is shown Justice seated on a winged 
sphere. On each side are half-length figures with 
scrolls, on which complimentary things are written 
about her. But they certainly were not true, in those 
horrible old days; for then, there was no such thing 
as real justice! Below is a splendid lion, with his 
book, who looks every inch the king of beasts, and 
the sign manual of St. Mark, and the power of 
Venice. On each side of him are saints; the one 
to his right is St. Giovanni, the good Bishop Orsini, 
sheltering fondly in his arms a little model of the 
city of Trail, he loved so well; the other is St. 
Lorenzo, with his gridiron. There are lots of 
escutcheons, showing the arms of the noble families 
who were in power when the loggia was built, and 

136 



SPALATO, AND DIOCLETIAN'S PALACE 

many inscriptions in Latin which give the date of 
the different repairs and additions. 

"We saw the place beside the judge's seat where 
unfortunates were chained to hear their sentences. 
Altho Justice with her scales was right over the 
culprit's head, the light-fingered gentry had a terribly 
hard time in Traii in olden times. Ancient laws exist 
in which the penalty for a small theft was the loss 
of one or both eyes, or the thief's nose was cut off. 
If the theft was of the value of even a couple of dol- 
lars, the victim was hung up by his head, in the 
Piazza, until dead. Doctors, in the pay of the city, 
were fined if they left it without a permit; and while 
spinning was prohibited in the Piazza, gambling was 
a crime if committed anywhere else. As the un- 
fortunates were punished just outside the loggia, I 
was delighted to think we were not there in those 
cruel days. I certainly much prefer to hear, in the 
radiant sunshine of a twentieth century day, the 
terrible tales of what happened in the quaint old 
Piazza in ancient times, than to have been present 
when some poor wretch was having his nose cut off 
or his eyes put out, for stealing a few soldi. It 
makes me so happy to know that this poor old world 
is growing better every day — in spite of all the bad 
things some people say of it. The ancient square is 
just as picturesque as it ever was, and yet all the 
barbarous laws and cruel punishments are forever 

137 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

past. At the back of the loggia are the remains of 
the very narrow little church of St. Barbara, now used 
as a storehouse, and not worth a visit; but the old 
convent of St. Nicolo is charming! It was founded 
way back in 1064, by St. Giovanni — then, just the 
Bishop Orsini — for ladies of noble family, and it is 
still a Benedictine nunnery. It has a lovely, quaint 
and peaceful court, in which the gentle, dark-eyed 
sisters continue 'to tell their beads, and read their 
breviaries, in the shade of the ancient cloister.' 

"On our way to the steamer, we went to see the 
home of the famous Giovanni Lucio, 'Father of Dal- 
matian history,' who was born in Trau, in 1614. 
While studying in Rome, he decided to return to 
Traii and devote his life to research and to writing 
his country's history. It seems that the Lucio family 
had long had a feud with their patrician neighbors 
named Andreas. Paolo, a son of this house, upon 
learning that Lucio was making a study of the city's 
archives, suspected him of having an ulterior motive 
— or at least he pretended he did. The truth is that 
Paolo, himself, was writing a history of Trail, so, 
naturally, he was jealous of Lucio, altho I don't sup- 
pose it could have been so hard to get a book pub- 
lished then as it is now. But, any way, Paolo was 
hateful and tricky, and he told tales to the governor, 
the powerful Count Contarini, accusing Lucio of 
searching the records, to try to prove that Venice 

138 



SPALATO, AND DIOCLETIAN'S PALACE 

had violated her promises. Now it happened that 
just at this time the noble Venetian, who had su- 
preme authority in Trail, decided to pay the city a 
visit, and most unfortunately selected Lucio's palace 
as his place of residence. 

"Giovanni being busy with his work — not even 
knowing of his neighbor's perfidious tale and having 
a very ill sister in his house at the time — tried to 
excuse himself from having to entertain the unde- 
sired guest. Count Contarini immediately became 
enraged, and believed all that Paolo had told him, 
and more, too. He didn't even wait for any proof, 
but had Lucio imprisoned, confining him with the 
low-born galley slaves. Only the pleadings of Lucio's 
bishop prevented him suffering the still worse degra- 
dation of being publicly bastinadoed. Poor Lucio 
had ample time to regret his lack of hospitality, and 
to bemoan the trouble his want of tact had caused; 
for he was kept 'in durance vile' a long time. For- 
tunately, the Contarini paid another visit — this time 
to 'that bourne from which no traveler returns' — so 
Lucio was released, as there was no proof against 
him. He left Traii at once and went to Rome, where 
he wisely remained. His fine old palace has sadly 
fallen from its once grand estate. The lovely cortile 
remains, with its magnificent old well in the center, 
and you can still see the original Renaissance doors 
and windows which open on the courtyard; but the 

139 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

entire sea-front of the building has. been so entirely 
modernized it is hardly recognizable. Close by, is 
the old home of Paolo, also sadly defaced. The 
noble families have vanished; their abodes, the scene 
of past grandeur, are now squalid and forlorn, ten- 
anted only by that gaunt pair, Time, and his hideous 
mate, Decay! (I'm quite proud of that — it sounds 
fine! I must read it to John.) 

"But I mustn't write one word more about Trail, 
for we are almost at Spalato ! Now, I must give my 
whole attention to that old reprobate Diocletian, 
whose once magnificent palace is now the little hud- 
dled up city of Spalato. But before I forget it I 
must write down the ridiculous scare I had. Just as 
we were going up the steps into the loggia, to better 
examine the sculptures over the judge's seat, my 
heart almost stood still. For there, right beside us, 

was that smirking creature who gave me B 's 

note! I clutched at John, but the next moment I 
laughed outright; for, altho the fellow had the little, 
dinky red cap and the huge blue trousers, it wasn't 
the same man at all. He only wanted to sell us some 
postcards. I felt so relieved that I bought a dozen 
from him, altho we had already gotten all the cards 
we wanted, at a little shop. Oh, I do hope that that 
detestable Bela man will not meet us at Spalato! If 
he does, I really do not know what I shall do. I so 
wish I had told John about that letter at the time, and 

140 



SPALATO, AND DIOCLETIAN'S PALACE 

gotten it over with — for now I simply can not. 
It is too late for him to believe me; and as long as 
I live he'd be constantly throwing up to me that I 
did flirt with that insolent, conceited wretch. 

"Our first glimpse of Spalato was wo fully disap- 
pointing. It looked much more like a square for- 
tress — built low and flat upon the shore — than a 
palace or an ancient city. Along the whole sea- 
front runs a dilapidated wall in which are the rem- 
nants of the half-columns and arches of Diocletian's 
famous 'crypto-portkus,' once a lovely open gallery, 
where he no doubt walked in the evening. To-day, 
a row of cheap dwellings, squalid restaurants, and 
shabby houses, with small modern windows and green 
wooden shutters, are wedged in between the ancient 
arches, the mean and modern so crowding the ma- 
jestic and antique that the only result is a motley jum- 
ble. But we arrived in the garish light of a July 
day. In the glowing sunlight which blazed down upon 
them the poor old arches and columns only looked 
dark, dirty, and dilapidated ; while the intense glare 
brought out every squalid detail of the unsightly 
buildings which were crowded in between them. But 
everything was changed when we walked upon the 
Marina, a few hours later; for the sunset clothed the 
old city with an ephemeral glory. In the fading 
light all the harsh lines and crudity completely dis- 
appeared, and Spalato was metamorphosed! In 

141 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

imagination I could bring back the time when this 
was not a city founded by the refugees who had 
been driven from their homes at Salona, but the mag- 
nificent imperial residence of that all-powerful em- 
peror, who, tiring of his purple robes and his diadem 
as an Augustus of Rome, had retired from office, to 
spend his last years in this palace by the tranquil 
sea, in the land he had known and loved in child- 
hood. He had been raised by Fate to the highest 
pinnacle of earthly greatness. He ruled Rome — and 
Rome ruled the world. But within his heart he still 
kept enshrined the humble Dalmatian land of his 
birth. 

"Of course, everybody knows something about the 
Roman Empire — at least they did when they were 
going to school. I frankly confess I couldn't re- 
member much about Diocletian, except that we had 
seen his baths in Rome, or at least the ruins of them; 
but John has told me all about him, and it is as in- 
teresting as a fairy tale. John is so smart, he never 
forgets anything; and he tells dry old historical facts 
so attractively that they become actually amusing. 
I noticed that quite a little group of people gathered 
round us on the boat, listening to what he said, altho 
they pretended they weren't. I felt so proud of John, 
I wanted to hug him. He is so well read and yet so 
entirely unpretentious. And with all his dignity and 
brains he is so bright, so witty, so typically American. 

142 



SPALATO, AND DIOCLETIAN'S PALACE 

There are no men in all the world so splendid as 
ours ! 

"But I am forgetting Diocletian. I must write 
down what John told me before it slips from my 
mind. He was born in Diocles, Dalmatia, in 245 
a.d., and took his name from his birthplace; for his 
parents were slaves owned by a rich Roman senatof 
in whose family they lived. By his exceptional 
ability, his father raised himself to the position of 
'scribe,' and later secured the freedom of his family. 
At an early age Diocletian entered the army, and by 
merit, or good luck, rose from the ranks to being an 
officer, and finally was made a general. John says 
he was a man of great ability, and it may be so, but 
to me it looks as if he had had phenomenal luck. 
For after being made a general, his followers pro- 
claimed him emperor, and the Roman Senate thought 
it best to accede to the wish of the army; for the 
Praetorian Guards were the real power behind the 
throne. So by fate, or luck, or ability, or whatever 
it was, Diocletian, the son of the slave of Senator 
Anulinus, became a Roman Emperor, clothed in the 
imperial purple. 

"Diocletian was a most remarkable potentate. In- 
stead of sighing for 'more worlds to conquer,' before 
a year had passed he decided his empire was too 
large for one man to rule properly. So he sent for 
his army friend, Maximian, who had been his com- 

143 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

rade in the ranks, and who, under Diocletian's power- 
ful influence, had risen to be a general, and gave him 
an equal share of the imperial honors, making him an 
Augustus, like himself, and creating at the same time 
two Caesars, with a rank and power only second to 
his own. 

"Politics were not so very different in those days, 
after all. For it is a rather significant fact that 
Galerius, one of the newly made Caesars, was 
Diocletian's son-in-law ; and that Constantius Chlorus, 
the father of the great Constantine, was made to 
divorce his wife Helen — the very Helen who after- 
ward built the Church of the Nativity and the 
Church of the Holy Sepulcher, and was canonized as 
Saint Helen — so that he could marry Maximian's 
stepdaughter. The wheels within wheels do not 
even stop here, for Maximian later, on the death of 
Constantine the Great's first wife, married him to his 
daughter Fausta — exactly as he had married his 
father to his stepdaughter — and this, too, after hav- 
ing caused Constantius to divorce Helen, Constan- 
tine's own mother, to do it! But the wicked old 
matchmaker got paid off in the end as he richly de- 
served. 

"After having ruled successfully as Augustus, with 
Maximian and the two Caesars to help him, Diocletian 
grew so weary of his exalted position that he de- 
termined to retire. He hinted to his colleague that 

144 



SPALATO, AND DIOCLETIAN'S PALACE 

it was time, also, for him to give up office and let 
the two Caesars show what they could do as Augusti. 
But Maximian demurred. He made the excuse that 
he wanted to complete his twenty years of public 
service. Diocletian agreed to this, and decided to stay 
in office himself another year so they could retire to- 
gether — which they did May the first in the year 

305 A.D. 

"But the strange thing is to know it wasn't really 
in the year 305 a.d. at all; but actually Anno Domini 
309! In the reign of the first Augustus (Caius 
Octavius, Julius Caesar's adopted son) 'A little 
child was born in Bethlehem in Judea,' whose coming 
was 'the most momentous event — not alone in the age 
of Augustus, but for all ages — in the spiritual his- 
tory of the world.' When our present method of 
reckoning was first introduced in the fifth century, an 
error was made amounting to four years and six 
days. So, reckoned in our common era, the birth of 
our Lord actually occurred in the year 4 Before 
Christ, or 4 b.c. The discrepancy wasn't discovered 
for ten centuries. Appalled at the confusion which 
would arise in civil and ecclesiastical affairs if the 
date of everything for so many centuries had to be 
changed, it was decided to say nothing about it, since 
it was thought better to let the year Anno Domini 
remain four years and six days out of the way. 

"Now, of course, the error in reckoning makes 

145 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

every one's dates wrong. For instance, instead of 
having been born in 1888 a.d v I was really born in 
the year of our Lord 1892 — so it can not possibly be 
an untruth to say so! And, what's more, it certainly 
isn't necessary to explain about the discrepancy every 
time I mention the year of my birth. Surely no one 
can be expected to go through the world telling 
everybody all the things they don't know. But it's a 
great pity I never heard of the error before; for I 
could have used it with a clear conscience so many 
times, and it would have been so much nicer, than 
to have had to tell so many 'fibs' about my age. 

"I really can not begin to remember all the things 
John told me about Spalato, but I know it was more 
than twelve years in building. Even then the work 
had to be hurried, in order to get the palace ready for 
the 'world-weary emperor/ as some historians call 
him. Diocletian was induced to fight the Christians 
by Galerius, his son-in-law, who hated them. He so 
inflamed Diocletian's mind against them by infamous 
lies, that he succeeded in getting the emperor to per- 
secute them horribly. , 

"Diocletian believed that Christians set fire to his 
palace, and committed other criminal acts, and that 
they were a sect dangerous to the empire. Some 
people believe the emperor, as a punishment for his 
sins, was afflicted by a terrible disease, which caused 
him such extreme agony that he could no longer 

146 



SPALATO, AND DIOCLETIAN'S PALACE 

reign; but no one really knows why he decided to 
surrender his imperial throne — 'giving up his gor- 
geous purple robes, casting aside his golden scepter, 
and relinquishing forever the royal diadem which he, 
of Roman emperors, had been the first to wear.' 
What we know is that he and Maximian did abdi- 
cate, and that their two sons-in-laws, the Caesars, 
Galerius and Constantius, were duly raised to the 
exalted rank of Augusti, with a great flourish of 
trumpets. 

"Immediately after his abdication, Diocletian, with 
a retinue of adherents, retired to the palace he had 
constructed for himself near the then flourishing and 
ancient city of Salona. Having been a Roman gen- 
eral, it is not surprizing that his villa was built on 
the plan of an armed camp. It was rectangular in 
shape, and surrounded by massive walls. Two prin- 
cipal avenues, crossing each other at right angles, 
divided his domain, of about ten acres in extent, into 
four main sections. In those days Diocletian's 
Talatium' must have been magnificent. It had 
temples and squares, imperial apartments, and build- 
ings capable of lodging his Praetorian cohort, besides 
nobles and innumerable attendants. There were 
spacious baths and lovely colonnades, a majestic 
peristyle and graceful porticos, forming 'a little world 
within the walls, of which much still remains,' after 
sixteen hundred years! Here Diocletian, surrounded 

H7 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATLA 

by every luxury, spent the last years of his life in 
peace and comfort — unless he really suffered agony 
from rheumatism, as some people believe he did, as 
a just retribution for his sins. 

"I don't believe it ; but in any case, he soon had the 
satisfaction of knowing he had done a wise thing in 
abdicating, exchanging turmoil and intrigue for 
tranquility and peace. Misfortunes came thick and 
fast upon his friend Maximian (whom John 
facetiously styles 'the original Progressive'). He 
hadn't been out of office a year, before he tired of 
'the simple life,' and began to urge Diocletian to join 
him in resuming the purple, to 'save the country.' 
Then it was that the Sage of the Palatium indited 
that famous reply, written on his best waxen tablet, 
tied with linen thread, and duly knotted, sealed with 
wax, and stamped by his own signet ring: 'Never 
was I so happy and content, my Maximian, in the 
imperial robes ruling the world as I am here, culti- 
vating cabbages in my little garden.' 

"Maximian thirsted for power, and willingly lis- 
tened to his son, Maxentius, who, for reasons of his 
own, advised his father to don once more the im- 
perial purple — believing it would help his own chances 
of becoming Caesar. The plan worked perfectly; but 
very soon the army mutinied and Maxentius seized 
the opportunity to banish his father. He fled for 
refuge to the court of Constantine the Great, who 

148 



SPALATO, AND DIOCLETIAN'S PALACE 

had become Csesar on the death of his father, the 
Emperor, and at the same time had been cajoled by 
Maximian into marrying his daughter Fausta. No 
sooner, however, had the old man become Con- 
stantine's guest, than he again felt called upon to 
don the purple for the good of the country. When 
his son-in-law objected to his assumption of power, 
he took his daughter Fausta aside, and confided to 
her that he had a little plan by which he would get 
rid of her husband, so that he, himself, could reign. 
Fausta listened to all her father had to say, and 
then ran and told Constantine every word. He forth- 
with laid a trap for Maximian and caught him in the 
act when he tried to stab him while he slept, after 
which he informed his guest that he must die, but 
that he could chose his manner of exit. Maximian 
chose strangulation, and thus closed his earthly 
career, only a couple of years after Diocletian had 
settled down at Spalato to enjoy himself while rais- 
ing his famous cabbages. 

"Galerius, on becoming Emperor, at once directed 
all his fury against the Christians. For eight terrible 
years they had little rest; persecution raged. All 
who refused to burn incense to the gods were tor- 
tured or slain. 'The whip, the rack, the tigers, hooks 
of steel, and red-hot beds continued to do their 
deadly work.' And then, in a.d. 311, when life was 
slipping away, Galerius was converted. On his 

149 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

death-bed he published an edict permitting the Chris- 
tians to worship God in their own way. 

"Diocletian not only lived long enough to learn 
that his son-in-law, who had himself incited the per- 
secutions of the Christians, had become an eleventh- 
hour convert, but in the last year of his life he must 
have heard how the Great Constantine, marching to 
give battle at the Milvian Bridge near Rome (to that 
very Maxentius who was Maximian's son), saw 
a luminous cross in the sky above the meridian 
sun with the words ev tovtco vina or, in the more 
familiar Latin, In hoc vinces! and how, in the battle 
which followed, Constantine was victorious, and 
Maxentius and his retreating army were drowned in 
the Tiber, while endeavoring to escape across the 
rickety bridge. 

"Strange stories, too, must have been whispered 
about the palace, as the wondrous account was re- 
lated, again and again, of how, the night after the 
battle, the new God of the Christians appeared in 
a vision to Constantine, commanding him to become 
a Christian and to take the standard he had seen in 
the sky as his banner of the Cross, and to march 
under it, assuring, him of victory over all his enemies. 

"How the palace must have hummed with the 
news of Constantine's great victories. How often 
in those old days, after the great emperor and the 
crowds attending him had passed into the temple — 

150 



SPALATO, AND DIOCLETIAN'S PALACE 

to the sound of trumpets, crashing of cymbals, and 
tinkling of bells — the people must have gathered in 
the peristyle in little groups, discussing together the 
stirring news of the great world without the palace 
gates. And maybe — after the last of the flower- 
wreathed bulls and goats, and the little lambs with 
their gilded horns had been led away to be sac- 
rificed to y£sculapius, favorite deity of their master 
Diocletian — the soldiers may have talked in low 
tones of the strange new banner of Constantine, 
that simple standard, the Labarum, with its mystic 
X — symbol of the Cross and of Him who bore it, a 
banner which, through unnumbered centuries yet to 
come, was to lead the Christian armies of the world 
in that greatest of all conflicts — the battle against 
sin. 

"But poor old Diocletian cared nothing for what 
was taking place in the great world he had left — not 
even for the little world within his palace walls. 
Still faithful to the old gods, his eyes closed for- 
ever, in the very year in which Constantine the 
Great — son of his old friend and associate, the 
Caesar Constantius Chlorus — issued his famous edict 
of Milan, a.d. 313, an edict which granted religious 
freedom throughout the Roman Empire. 

"This is the story as John told it to me, and I think 
it was most interesting, particularly when we were 
here, actually upon the very spot where Diocletian 

151 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

lived and died. Now, with the story fresh in my 
mind, instead of just a collection of dilapidated walls, 
broken columns, time-darkened fragments, mere relics 
of antiquity 'dead as Hector,' I shall try to rebuild 
the palace and invest it with all its pristine glory. 

"It is only nine o'clock, but I am very tired and 
sleepy, so I am going to bed. We have put up at 
the little Hotel Troccoli, in the Piazza dei Signori, 
in the Borge, or western side of the town. I must 
get rested for to-morrow, so I can start bright and 
early to 'do' Spalato. John is outside smoking (get- 
ting 'points' from a man he has met who can speak 
a little English). He told me to go to bed, for he 
saw I was tired out. And I am tired — too tired to 
think! And yet, one thought constantly oppresses 
me, and fills me with a strange dread — will that 
Bela man come?" 



152 



VIII 

THE "PALATIUM" OF YESTERDAY, THE CITY 
OF TO-DAY 

Every one who has been in London will remem- 
ber Adelphi Terrace. It was built by four architects, 
all brothers (adelphi), and the four streets in the 
neighborhood of the terrace each received the Chris- 
tian name of one of the brothers. Robert Street was 
named for the youngest, Robert Adam, who was not 
only an architect but a talented artist as well. 

Desiring to supplement his knowledge of ancient 
architecture, he paid a visit to Spalato — or Spalatro 
as it was called a century and a half ago — to study 
its ruins. Altho the visit was made in July, 1757, 
the plans he drew of the original "palatium" re- 
main, without exception, the most comprehensive 
and accurate which now exist. On his return to 
London, he published an immense folio dedicated 
"to His Imperial Majesty King George III.," ex- 
plaining in his preface that: "They who aim at 
eminence in either the knowledge or practise of 
architecture find it necessary to view with their own 
eyes the works of the ancients which remain, that 
they may catch from them those ideas of grandeur 

153 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

and beauty which nothing, perhaps, but such obser- 
vation can suggest." 

One of the time-yellowed folios published by 
Robert Adam is now among the treasured volumes of 
the Congressional Library in Washington. In quaint 
old English, the text freely sprinkled with capitals 
and funny long /'/ for s's, Adam tells how the 
Venetian governor of Spalato, "unaccuftomed to 
fuch vifits of curiofity from ftrangerf," thought he 
was trying to study the plan of the fortifications, 
and had him arrested. By the aid of a Venetian 
general, who happened to be in town and warmly 
espoused his cause, Adam was released. But the 
careful governor, not entirely convinced that the 
Englishman was merely an ardent archeologist, had 
a soldier constantly detailed to act as "escort," 
which Adam admits caused him to "hurry the work 
as much as possible, fearing further interruption." 

The maps in this folio are huge in size, measuring 
at least two feet by four, but we were fortunate 
enough to get a wee copy of the "palatium" as 
Adam reconstructed it, which is not only of much 
interest but a great help in explaining what remains. 
Added to this, we brought away a small map of 
the present city of Spalato, which a gentleman at 
our hotel presented to John; or I should say half a 
map, for that is all it is, but it shows that portion 
of the city which contains the principal buildings and 

154 




BIRD'S-EYE VIEW 

"LE PALAI! 
RELEVE, I 



















flair*' • - *^r-^^.wWSI 



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-*» - - 3R i ~m~~*~- » ■••J? 5 * 

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A.LACE RESTORED 
jcletien" 

HEBRARD 



THE "PALATIUM" OF YESTERDAY, AND TO-DAY 

most important remains. As everything here is 
cluttered up and jumbled together, it is well to have 
a plan of some sort to go by, for it will save time 
and trouble. 

Originally the palace was almost square, and it had 
four gates, one for each point of the compass, in 
the center of the north, south, east, and west walls. 
Three of these gateways of Diocletian's own day 
remain still in use, serving to give access to the older 
part of the city which has grown up within the 
shelter of the ancient walls. Each is well worth 
careful inspection. 

Two broad avenues (which Adam precisely states 
were in width "thirty-five feet and five inches") 
run directly north and south, and east and west, con- 
necting the four gates and dividing the palatium into 
four almost equal parts. The northern gate, or 
Porta Aurea, is decidedly the most imposing. It is 
still massive, and must have looked like a triumphal 
arch when Diocletian, in all his glory, passed into 
his palace through this portal. There are niches 
which contained life-sized figures on each side of the 
great square portal, and three more in the arcading 
of the upper story. Architects and antiquarians 
delight in this Porta Aurea, or Golden Gate, not 
only because it is so well preserved, but because the 
arcading is "the earliest instance of the use of an 
architectural ornament that was, later, to play so 

155 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

important a part in Romanesque and Gothic work." 
Like many other things in Spalato, this "miniature 
arcading" was extensively copied by architects, who, 
centuries before Adam's day, came here to study the 
palace "which the love of the beautiful and the 
munificence of Diocletian had made possible; work 
acomplished by artists capable of imitating with no 
inconsiderable success the style and manner of a 
purer age. The names and history of these great 
masters are now unknown, but their works which 
remain merit the highest applause, and the extent 
and fertility of their genius seem to have equaled 
the magnificence of the monarch by whom they were 
employed." 

The avenue leading from the Golden Gate ran 
directly south through the old peristyle to the flight 
of steps leading to the portico of the vestibule, a 
building with a round dome, which stood at the en- 
trance to the imperial apartments. Other steps led 
down beneath the vestibule and the emperor's private 
apartments to a dismal subterranean passage which 
still connects with the lower, or "sea-gate." 

As we arrived by steamer, instead of driving or 
motoring over from Trau — which is by far the 
pleasanter way — we entered the city by this sea-gate, 
in the south wall under Diocletian's famous crypto- 
porticus. Once the water washed the walls, but now 
there is a broad, fine quay outside, well paved and 

156 




A — (North.) Porta Aurea ("golden 

gate"). 
B — Street leading to Diocletian's 

apartments. 
C — (West.) Porta Ferrea ("iron 

gate") 
D — (East.) Porta iEnea ("brazen 

gate"). 
E — Street from east to west gate. 
F — Piazza and Peristyle. 
G — Diocletian's Mausoleum. Now 

the Cathedral. 
H — Temple of iBsculapius. Now 

the Baptistery. 
I — Open court before the Temple of 

iEsculapius. 
T — Vestibule of the palace. 
K — Triclinia Tetrastyle (dining-room 

with four columns). 
L — Exedra (conversation-room). 
M — (Ecus Triclinium (large dining- 
room). 
N — Basilica (for theatricals and 

music). 



O — Atrium, (or great hall). 

P — Calida Piscina (lukewarm bath). 

Q — Exercise Room. 

R — Supping Room. 

S — Cubiculum Domitorium Diocle- 
tiani (Diocletian's bed-cham- 
ber), t. Room with moderate 
• heat; it. Room with unguents 
for bath; v. steam room; w. 
cold bath not given in plan ; 
x, furnace, etc. 

T— Gynecium (apartments for women 
and girls). 

U — Aulicorum JEdes (apartments of 
pretorian guards). _ 

V — Covered arcade n either tide of 
the principal street. 

W — Old sea line (now the Marina). 

X — Vaulted cells around the exterior 
walls (slaves' quarters). 

Y — Crvpto-porticus (gallery for walk- 
ing exercise, etc.). 

Z — The square and octagonal towers 
of the city wall. 



PLAN OF THE "PALATIUM" 

After Plan of Robert Adam (1757) 



THE "PALATIUM" OF YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY 

planted with rows of trees. On entering the vaulted 
passage, which meanders along under houses which 
have been built where the emperor's palatial suite 
once was, it reminded me of nothing so much as a 
dark and slimy sewer. It was not only gruesome, 
but the walls were wet, and clumps of moss and 
tufts of grass and weeds had taken root between the 
interstices of the rocks over our heads. This tunnel is 
called by the Spalatrini, "La Grotta." By many twists 
and turns we at last reached the flight of steps which 
brought us out into the Piazza, once the peristyle. 

After having made a tour of the subterranean 
vaults, it was more astonishing to learn that in 
ancient times the palace kitchens were situated here, 
so that up and down these steps a host of slaves, 
laden with dishes for the imperial "triclinium," must 
have passed. 

It must be con f est that the Grotta is far from 
being an attractive entrance. We ascertained, later, 
that the proper way to obtain an impression of the 
city is either through the Piazza dei Signori, and 
Porta Ferrea, the western gate, or, better still, by 
way of the northern gate, Porta Aurea, and along 
the adjoining lane, a narrow lane crowded with 
shops, which is all that is left of the once broad 
avenue now so encroached upon by dwellings that 
nothing remains but a wee little strip of daylight 
between the buildings. 

157 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

Going straight down this street, we soon came to 
where the other street, running from the east gate 
to the west gate, crosses it at right angles. A few 
steps more brought us to the center of the palace, 
where remains of lovely old columns of the ancient 
peristyle stand right before us. Originally this part 
of the palace was composed of two parallel rows of 
open colonnades, formed of cipollino and rose- 
colored granite, leading directly to the steps of a 
Corinthian portico, or loggia, having four exquisitely 
carved columns of Egyptian granite. Jackson says: 
"Standing in the old peristyle with the blackened 
and defaced Corinthian colonnade on each side, the 
portico of the domed vestibule in front and two 
temples on either hand, it is not too much to say 
that so much of Roman handiwork surrounds one 
that the late buildings seem mere excrescences upon 
it, and in this respect no other inhabited relic of the 
old Roman Empire can be compared to Spalato." 

The excrescences Jackson refers to are the motley 
little shops and dwellings built up between the old 
arches, with crude little balconies, green-shuttered 
windows, and cheap modern doors, crowding 
themselves in under the magnificent colonnade and 
even looking down brazenly from above. But, 
when we remember that these humble abodes were 
packed into the palace far back in the seventh cen- 
tury, and that they have been a part of the peristyle, 

158 




SPALATO 

PORTA AUREA (GOLDEN GATE) 
CRYPTO-PORTICUS AND HARBOR 



THE "PALATIUM" OF YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY 

or Piazza del Duomo, as it now is called, for hun- 
dreds of years, we realize that they have almost be- 
come a part of the Piazza — like the duomo itself, 
the steps and portico of the ruined vestibule, and the 
very Egyptian sphinx of black granite which sits in 
profound meditation on a low wall just outside. 

The sphinx quite fascinated me. I heard that it 
is supposed formerly to have been one of a pair of 
sphinxes placed on the steps leading to the duomo — 
which was originally the mausoleum of Diocletian. 
All that is left of its companion is now to be seen 
in the museum. It seems that a falling stone, cen- 
turies ago, knocked off its head; and headless it re- 
mains to this day. For many years a diligent search 
failed to reveal the missing member, when lo and 
behold ! a few years ago, when the missing head 
had almost been forgotten, some sharp-eyed citizen 
espied it built into the wall of one of the houses in 
the Ulica Ghetto. Governmental threats, bribes, and 
entreaties failed, however, to cause its humble owner 
to part with his ancient treasure, so in his wall it 
still remains. Painted in grotesque colors that none 
seeking the head may fail to discover it, while the 
mutilated body alone is treasured in the museum. 
Hieroglyphics on the base prove it to be of the 
epoch of Amenhotep III., who built parts of Karnak 
and Luxor, and who reigned about 1500 B.C. 

The Temple of y£sculapius once stood just opposite 

159 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

the mausoleum, but it no longer can be seen through 
the arches of the peristyle; houses completely hide 
it from view. We might have had some difficulty in 
finding it, had it not been for our plan of the modern 
city. Going along the tiny alleyway to the west, 
exactly opposite the steps of the duomo, we soon 
discovered it. The ancient temple is now known as 
the Baptistery of Spalato, dedicated no longer to 
iEsculapius, but to St. Giovanni Battista. The portico 
is, unfortunately, gone, but the steps still remain. 
There are just fifteen of them, for I counted them to 
make sure. The ancients always had an uneven 
number of steps leading up to their temples, so that 
no worshiper would enter the cella with the left 
foot — which was considered disrespectful to the god. 
This little shrine, in which Diocletian burned incense, 
and offered sacrifices to his favorite deity, 2Es- 
culapius, seventeen hundred years ago, is marvelously 
well preserved. Frothingham says: "It is, perhaps, 
the best-preserved cella of any temple in existence; 
so we can overlook its small size . and rough finish 
and the loss of its portico." 

It seems very amusing to me to think of the great 
Diocletian worshiping ^Esculapius, the god of the 
medical doctors, who is represented as an old man 
with a long beard, and a staff having a horrible 
snake coiled round it. The mythologies say 
^sculapius was so skilled in the medicinal value of 

160 



THE "PALATIUM" OF YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY 

plants that Pluto complained to Jupiter that by his 
professional services he was depopulating the lower 
regions. Evidently his patients were "undesirable 
citizens." Maybe, after all, Diocletian did have 
rheumatism, and that, perhaps, is why he made the 
"father of medicine" his particular deity. The story 
goes that Jupiter, to oblige Pluto, killed the famous 
physician with a thunderbolt, but after his unde- 
served death, permitted him to have divine honors. 
I don't suppose any follower of ^Esculapius has ever 
since been killed because too successful in a conflict 
with disease and death. Some I know of, not only 
have not depopulated Hades, but have helped to in- 
crease the population of the Celestial City. The 
most famous of all the progeny of .ZEsculapius was 
his daughter Hygeia. We burn incense in her honor 
to this day — that horrible smelling stuff called 
formaldehyde — and she is one for whom big hotels, 
and germ-proof "hygienic" things are named. 

Experts, who know all about such things, declare 
that the ornamentation of the doorway of the temple 
to ^Esculapius is "over-rich in detail" and crudely 
and hastily carved. Of course, what I think is of no 
value, but I admit I admired greatly the scrolls with 
the quaint little figures and animals coming out of 
them. Any one who has an opportunity to study the 
exquisite drawings Adam made of the arabesques 
around the door, and of the wonderful pilasters, will 

161 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

admit that while they may be over-rich in detail, they 
are exceedingly decorative. 

The interior of the temple measures only sixteen 
by twenty-seven feet. The arched roof of the cella, 
now sunken into coffers, is believed to be the very 
roof which gave to Giorgio Orsini his model. He 
saw it when he came to work at Spalato, when, by 
taxing the vineyards, the authorities tried to raise 
sufficient money with which to go on building the 
duomo at Sebenico. This cella, with its coffered 
ceiling, delighted Giorgio, giving him his inspiration 
for the splendid, stone-vaulted roof on the cathedral. 

For centuries a huge stone sarcophagus, with 
sculptures showing the hero, Meleager, hunting the 
Caledonian boar, stood on the platform to the left of 
the temple steps. The story of Meleager is, that 
Diana caused the boar to destroy his father's (King 
CEneus') lands because he had wilfully neglected to 
honor her altars. Being a dutiful son, Meleager set 
out to kill the boar, which was ravaging his father's 
domain, just as the gypsy-moth and the boll-weevil ruin 
crops to-day. The scene on the sarcophagus shows 
the hero about to kill the boar, surrounded by at- 
tendant hunters. In 1884, during an epidemic of 
"spring house-cleaning," and what Jackson calls 
"excessive restorations," which the authorities of 
Spalato indulged in, this time-stained antiquity 
(which had withstood sixteen centuries of rain and 

162 




O W 

< 

< 

PL, 

CO 



THE "PALATIUM" OF YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY 

sun) was "removed to the dull limbo of the museum," 
where it is stored away with a vast accumulation of 
other hoary relics ; in a place "where few people will 
ever see it, and where no one will ever enjoy it, as 
every Spalatrine, high or low, would have done for 
generations to come, had it been left in its old place 
to molder slowly away in the course, perhaps, of 
sixteen centuries more." 

The museum stands just outside the homely mod- 
ern gate in the eastern wall of the town. The 
original Porta TEnea completely disappeared many 
years ago. Not a vestige of it is left. The museum 
may be fine, but it is so crowded, inside and out, 
with a heterogeneous collection of columns, sar- 
cophagi, fragments of sculpture, innumerable stones, 
bearing inscriptions, funeral urns, vases, jewelry and 
other things, that Jackson's words about the Meleager 
tomb are particularly pertinent. Altho we hunted 
it up, and at last found it in use as a support for 
another antiquity in the crowded museum, we couldn't 
help thinking how much more the sarcophagus would 
have meant to us, and how much more we would 
have enjoyed it, if it had been left just where it had 
rested for sixteen hundred years! 

Fortunately, when we reached Spalato the scaf- 
foldings which had spoiled and obstructed the view 
during the long years of "restoration," had been re- 
moved from the campanile, the exquisite medieval 

163 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

tower built at the very portal of the mausoleum, now 
the duomo. The collapse of the campanile in Venice 
was a rude shock, but one which had valuable re- 
sults all over Italy, for it caused immediate steps to 
be taken to preserve many other tottering relics of 
past years. The campanile at Spalato came in for 
a much-needed patching up, for even in the fifteenth 
century it required new underpinning. It had always 
been top-heavy, and was in great danger of falling 
from the further fact that it has no real foundation 
at all, having been built over the steps of what was 
the portico of the mausoleum, on platforms on each 
side of the entrance, like some towering Colossus of 
Rhodes. 

Making our way through the peristyle, now the 
Piazza del Duomo, and passing between two small 
lions which guard the entrance, we ascended the steps 
and found ourselves in Diocletian's famous pantheon. 
Frothingham says: 

"A casual visitor is hardly likely to remember that 
this is the only well-preserved imperial tomb in ex- 
istence. The mausoleums of the Augusti and their 
successors are formless mounds, and of Hadrian's 
magnificent memorial tomb, which held the imperial 
remains of the second and early part of the third 
century, only the mutilated and transformed shell 
remains. The emperors buried not in family me- 
morials but in private sepulchers, fared still worse. 

164 



THE "PALATIUM" OF YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY 

Diocletian's mausoleum stands preeminent in pre- 
serving not only its entire structure, but also its deco- 
rations. Hardly an ancient monument of any class is 
so intact." 

The exterior of the duomo is octagonal in shape. 
Fortunately nothing has been done to alter this 
magnificent old tomb-house, rededicated to "the 
honor of God and the Glorious Virgin Mary," in 
650 a.d. At first it may seem strange for a man to 
build his own tomb within his palace walls, but we 
know that Pharaohs, Roman emperors, and other 
rulers, constructed splendid sepulchers for their last 
resting-places. But "man proposes and God dis- 
poses." None of them had a resting-place so very 
long. No doubt Diocletian, when he planned this 
magnificent mausoleum, which is the gem of all the 
treasures of Spalato, fondly imagined he would 
sleep his eternal sleep in his porphyry sarcophagus un- 
der the dome, undisturbed till doomsday. But, alas, 
for human hopes ! While the mausoleum remains 
almost as he constructed it, his imperial remains were 
dragged out of the sarcophagus centuries ago by 
looters in search of treasure. To-day, even the 
mutilated fragments of his porphyry tomb are not 
definitely identified. Sic transit gloria mundi! 

On coming into the duomo from the sunny Piazza, 
I could see nothing for a few minutes, the light 
within was so dim. I can not pretend to understand 

165 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

the pros and cons of the weighty archeological dis- 
cussion that has taken place as to the ancient uses 
of this edifice. Some authorities still declare it to 
have been originally a temple to Jupiter, or some 
other god, while other learned savants as firmly in- 
sist it was Diocletian's mausoleum. If a mere 
woman may express an opinion, I will say that, so far 
as I am concerned, I feel sure it was the emperor's 
tomb and nothing else. It is very like all the 
pantheons I have seen. It gives you exactly the 
solemn impression obtained in the pantheon of Rome 
and that of Paris, and it is utterly unlike the Temple 
of yEsculapius, on the opposite side of the peristyle, 
which we know was originally a temple and not a 
tomb. 

The circular interior is divided into eight bays, 
or niches, by splendid detached columns, "two orders 
in height." Those of the lower order are of massive 
granite, while the smaller ones above are of porphyry. 
The columns do not support anything, they are 
purely ornamental; but the entablature of the lower 
columns projects far enough out to form a narrow 
gallery, running all round the church and reached by 
a little, winding stair, hidden in the thickness of 
the wall. All the capitals of both the upper and 
lower order have been renewed. Inside and out, 
portions of the duomo which have been restored, 
being new and white, are plainly recognizable, in 

166 



THE "PALATIUM" OF YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY 

juxtaposition to the time-darkened stone. This may 
give "a checker-board appearance," but to the un- 
initiated it is delightful thus to be able to get at a 
glance the general effect of how everything was, and 
to know at the same time every particle of the work 
that has had to be renewed. While antiquarians like 
Jackson may think the restorations have lessened 
the value of the structure as a relic, to many of us, 
no real injury has been done. Certainly, in the years 
to come, posterity will rejoice that this wonderful 
edifice has not been permitted to remain merely an 
antiquity in ruin, like so many in Rome, which none 
but savants can reconstruct. 

A band of relief, which remains untouched, runs 
just below the upper entablature, and at once puts 
you in mind of decorations seen in Pompeiian fres- 
coes. The frieze, however, is carved, not painted. 
It consists of three oblong panel pictures between 
each of the upper columns, showing little cupids, or 
"putti," bearing garlands, driving chariots, riding 
horseback, or fighting with wild beasts. There are 
also some masques. One that I particularly noticed 
forms the central panel. It shows two cupids 
holding up a festoon of laurel which encloses a large 
masque. On the panel to the right, divided off from 
the cupids and the masque by a stumpy little tree, 
is a deer lying down. On the opposite panel, a 
standing, winged boy holds back a good-natured 

167 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

looking dog with a leash. The dog is obviously 
wagging his tail, and looks more inclined to play 
with the deer than to be ferocious. 

Another central relief shows a bust surrounded 
by a large wreath of laurel, and supported by two 
amorini. It appears to have been intended to have 
funereal significance. Many such designs are found 
on ancient tombs. In an old cemetery, discovered in 
the center of the modern city of Athens, I recall 
seeing recently a number of ancient sarcophagi hav- 
ing similar decorations. 

The duomo still boasts a low pyramidal roof of 
red tiles whose antiquity has been questioned. But 
Adam, in his explorations, discovered that some of 
these tiles were stamped with the Roman "S. P. 
Q. R." Jackson, Professor Bulic, a Monsignor of 
the church, and curator of the museum, utilized the 
scaffolding during the restoration in order to make 
another close examination, creeping in between the 
brick dome and the tiled roof. While they didn't 
discover any of Adam's S. P. Q. R. tiles, they found 
a number bearing, in Greek letters, the name of an 
ancient tile-maker, "Quintus Clodius Ambrosianus," 
hundreds of whose tiles have been found among the 
ruins of Salona. Consequently, all doubts as to a 
claim to honorable antiquity are forever settled. 

The floor space in the duomo is rather restricted. 
In each niche, to right and left of the high altar, 

168 



THE "PALATIUM" OF YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY 

are picturesque miniature chapels, little shrines with 
pointed canopies. The one to the right is dedicated 
to St. Doimo, and the one to the left to St. Anastasio, 
and, while a close copy of its neighbor, it is the 
work of Giorgio Orsini, who by his contract agreed 
to make his shrine a companion-piece to the older 
one to St. Doimo. It seemed like meeting an old 
friend to come upon Giorgio's work here in Spalato, 
and I confess I laid my hand upon the carved figures 
which his dexterous ringers made, just as pious folk 
touch sacred relics. 

In the carved panels of the shrines are shown St. 
Peter with his keys, St. Mark with his lion, and St. 
Anastasio with his millstone round his neck, beside 
other saints. Unfortunately, the light was so poor 
we could not really appreciate the splendid details of 
the carvings. 

The two carved doors of the duomo have 
fourteen panels each, showing scenes in the life of 
the Savior. They are said to be the finest example 
extant of medieval carving. The panels are deeply, 
inset, as if in a frame, and surrounded by bands of 
Romanesque scrolls and figures. At each of the 
four corners are round wooden ornaments of the 
size and shape of door knobs. Formerly the doors 
were gilded and picked out in red, but now almost 
every vestige of color has been worn away. The scenes 
show medieval ideas of perspective, and run the 

169 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

gamut, from the Annunciation, at the top of the left- 
hand side of one door, to Christ weeping over 
Jerusalem, and one showing a building like the 
Tower of Babel, at the bottom of the lower right. 

There are splendid oriental-looking carved stalls 
in the miniature choir, which are formed out of a 
recess opposite the entrance, and reached by passing 
behind the high altar. They are very similar to 
Moorish grills, and look much like the latticework 
we see fixt in Moslem dwellings in the windows of the 
women's apartments. 

In the treasury are some interesting plate and fine 
embroideries, but best of all things seen in the 
church — yes, even handsomer in my eyes than any- 
thing else in all Spalato — is the duomo's magnificent 
pulpit, "a thing of beauty," which to me will be "a 
joy forever!" While not unlike the pulpit at Trau, 
it is far handsomer. It stands very close to the en- 
trance, and is of such exquisite workmanship and 
coloring that it immediately attracts attention. 
Jackson says : "It is by far the most interesting 
object under the dome, and may challenge com- 
parison with any similar work of the middle ages." 
It has six columns of beautiful colored marbles, 
with Romanesque capitals exquisitely carved, show- 
ing a mass of fantastic-winged creatures peeping out 
from scrolls and foliage. They are deeply "under- 
cut" and "detached from the bell," and stand out 

170 



THE "PALATIUM" OF YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY 

wonderfully, almost as if carved in ivory instead 
of stone. They are considered to surpass in beauty 
of design and technical execution anything in 
Romanesque art of the same antiquity. 

The body of the pulpit is hexagonal, resting upon 
round, full arches, over which is an exquisite design 
of interlaced foliage as fine as lace work. Each of 
the six sides is ornamented with little twin columns 
of finest porphyry and rare marble, and finished with 
daintily carved Romanesque capitals, between which 
are carved ornaments, either a winged bull or lion, 
an angel or some other figure, while some are simply 
rosettes. The ornament under the book-rest is an 
"Agnus Dei,' ' like the one on the tympanum of the 
side doors at Zara — a stiff, woolly lamb with a nimbus, 
carrying a banner in his right foreleg. 

On the lower cornice, just above the arches, is a 
curly lion who holds in his claws one of those 
winged creatures often seen on capitals, playing hide 
and seek through the foliage. From his back rises a 
slender little spiral colonnette, on top of which is 
perched a fine eagle, clutching a poor little bird in 
each claw. The eagle's wings are spread, and form 
the book-rest. The top of the pulpit has a heavily 
carved cornice. On one side a huge crucifix stands 
stiffly in the air. It seems an unnecessary addition 
to a lovely pulpit whose perfect symmetry it un- 
doubtedly mars. A winding stairway, by which the 

171 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

pulpit is reached, is skilfully tucked away behind the 
great column beside which it stands, so that you do 
not see it, unless you look for it. The marvelous 
beauty of this pulpit makes it probable that it is the 
handiwork of that Guvina who carved the famous 
wooden doors of the Duomo, in 12 14. 

I may forget the peristyle, the temple of 
^Esculapius, and even the sphinx and the ruined ves- 
tibule, but I feel sure I shall never forget the duomo, 
and its carved pulpit. 



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IX 

A PRESENTIMENT AND A DRIVE TO ALMISSA 

"I'm actually glad," runs the diary, "to have to 
stay in the Troccoli to rest up. I've gotten so 
nervous about meeting that horrible man. I grow 
cold with fright at even the sight of brass buttons 
and a uniform. All day yesterday, when I should 
have been enjoying every minute — Spalato is so in- 
teresting — I could think of nothing but that Bela 
man. I was fearful of meeting him at every turn. 
We had quite a time trying to find the Porta Aurea. 
It is the northern gate, and we got confused and all 
mixed up in a tangle of little streets leading here, 
there, and everywhere — except the way we wanted to 
go. At last John declared that the moment he dis- 
covered a promising-looking individual he would in- 
quire the way, altho we knew it would be next to 
impossible to find any one with even the faintest 
idea of English. The next moment around the corner 
of the dark little alley came a man in uniform. The 
instant he appeared I knew it was Bela! I'm sure 
I must have turned actually ashen — but, fortunately, 
John didn't notice it. I had to clutch at a window- 

173 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

frame to keep from falling, as John stept forward to 
meet the fellow. I stood stock still — I could not 
have moved a step to save my life. 

"When I looked up, John was coming back with 
the officer — who was no more like Bela than I am; 
but who, as luck would have it, turned out to be one 
of his dearest friends. When having a chat with 
him, John happened to mention we had met an 
Austrian officer in Zara who had been most polite 
to us. (When John knows about him I'm sure he 
won't think him quite 'so polite.') The man — I 
forget his awful name — said that 'Captain Bela 
Masticevich was "his most dear fren'," ' and that he 
had gotten a letter from him the day before saying 
he 'expected to be in Spalato,' and would see him 
soon. 'I look for my gute fren' now any time,' he 
told us. I don't know what else he said, for I simply 
couldn't stand any more. Altho my feet were aching 
terribly, I walked on ahead just as quickly as I could, 
and never even glanced back. The man was really very 
polite and took us all the way to the Porta Aurea. 
It is well he did, for we never would have found it 
the way we were going. After he had left us, John 
asked me why I treated him so cavalierly? He said 
he had been most courteous and obliging, and had 
apologized over and over again because an engage- 
ment prevented him from showing us the town. I 
suppose he had gotten the impression that we were 

174 



A PRESENTIMENT AND A DRIVE TO ALMISSA 

life-long friends of that Bela — so I was glad to see 
the last of him. 

"The Porta Aurea is fine, and we made our way 
up into a cute little chapel of the ninth or tenth cen- 
tury, which is built into the gate, between the upper 
niches over the great doorway. In this tiny place of 
worship — which, next to the duomo, is the oldest 
in all Spalato — is an exquisitely carved marble screen 
which divides the body of the chapel from the 
chancel. It has a fine cross in the center, and most 
beautiful relief carving. The two tiny slits in the 
outer wall of the porta, which look like the openings 
in a fortress through which they used to shoot arrows, 
are really the windows in this most miniature church. 
But, small as it is, it is dedicated 'To the Blessed Vir- 
gin, Saint Martin, and Saint Gregory the Pope.' 

"We have been all over Spalato sightseeing. We 
have also visited the museum, but it was too full of 
anticos — which we knew nothing about — for us 
really to enjoy it. We went to the market-place, but 
there was 'nothing doing,' as market day was over, 
so all the picturesque little stalls were empty and 
their white cotton covers packed away. It was hot 
and dusty in the square, so we didn't linger there. 
It was so very warm that John decided he must buy 
himself a lighter coat; but I was so weary, and my 
feet hurt so, I could not go a step further, con- 
sequently he left me in the Piazza, while he went 

175 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

back to one of the little shops. I sat down on the 
steps of the portico, just outside the ruined vestibule 
— of which only the door now remains. Close by 
me was the black granite sphinx — and an ugly thing, 
even if it is so ancient! The Spalato folk call it the 
'Man-woman,' but I can't imagine why, for it 
doesn't look like either. It holds a round thing in 
its paws, intended to represent the sun's disk, but 
the people here prefer to believe it is a loaf of bread. 
"The shops here are the funniest kinds of little 
holes in the wall, and as dark as Erebus, but some 
of them have really fine filigree jewelry. Somehow 
or other, I didn't want to buy anything, altho John 
said he'd get me a bracelet, or a chain, or anything 
else I wanted. I'm sure I don't know what is the 
matter with me, but I feel ill. I've worried and 
fretted over that man and his insolent note until 
I've actually become foolish about it. Every man I 
see, I think is that fellow, and at times I act so ab- 
surdly that even John notices it. When I look back 
and think how silly I've been, I could cry with 
anguish. Oh! why, when I felt sure I had said and 
done nothing wrong — when I honestly knew, in my 
very heart of hearts, that I had given that man no 
cause to write and insult me — why didn't I go 
straight to John with that note, as any sensible 
woman, not the deplorable fool I am, would have 
done! What a lot of unhappiness I would have 

i/6 



A PRESENTIMENT AND A DRIVE TO ALMISSA 

saved myself! Now, I can only wait until he comes, 
and I have a chance to show the conceited ass what 
a fool he has made of himself — and send him flying 
about his business. I may have been too vivacious, 
and not quite as dignified and sedate as a married 
woman should be, but he'll never presume to treat 
another American woman as he has me, I promise 
him that! 

"I suppose it is because I feel sick, but I have an 
awful presentiment that something terrible is going 
to happen. I'm never foolish like some people, who 
are always having 'presentiments' and believe in fore- 
warnings and dreams, and silly things like that, 
which are nothing but superstitious nonsense. Still, 
I can't shake off an intangible oppression, which has 
seized hold of me and fills me with a presentiment 
of impending evil. I feel sure John is going to be 
ill, or he'll lose all our money, or something else 
horrible will happen! I wish we were back in 
Washington — for if he does get sick I'm sure I never 
will be able to get a decent doctor here. If, like the 
rest of the people, the doctor talks nothing but this 
villainous Croatian, my poor John might die before 
I could find out whether he had malaria — and these 
Dalmatian cities are full of it — or that sleeping sick- 
ness, or bubonic plague, or some other of the awful 
things they have in the Orient. We are really so 
near the East here that I am afraid we can take 

177 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

anything. We see all kinds of odd-looking people 
on the marina. I counted five men with fezzes in 
one boat. John says there are people here from every- 
where. In the harbor are queer little vessels from 
Greece, Turkey and the Black Sea; they come also 
from Italy and France, and even from England. A 
perfect babble of tongues is heard on the quay when 
they bargain with each other excitedly, buying and 
selling noisily, like a lot of street vendors on a 
Saturday night in the Bowery. 

There is certainly no Society for the Prevention 
of Cruelty to Animals in Spalato, for I never saw 
animals treated more barbarously, except, possibly, 
in Naples. I took a picture of one poor little donkey 
on the marina, so laden down with bundles of straw 
you could hardly see his nose. There is the greatest 
abundance of fruit; we saw market-boats loaded with 
nuts and figs, dates and plums, oranges and lemons, 
and every kind of vegetable, from beets and tomatoes 
to green corn and quantities of enormous cabbages. 
The marina, or quay, outside Diocletian's 'crypto- 
porticus,' is simply a moving-picture show at almost 
any hour of the day or evening. The harbor is 
always filled with boats, picturesque cargoes of every 
imaginable shape and color, protected from the sun 
by awnings made from gaily dyed sails. 

The people are mostly blond; the men usually 
have huge corn-colored, bushy mustaches, which they 

178 



A PRESENTIMENT AND A DRIVE TO ALMISSA 

fondly caress as proudly as any Beau Brummel. The 
women wear English calicoes, and have folded ker- 
chiefs over their heads. The men look delightfully 
quaint in baggy blue trousers, short brown jackets 
and leather cummerbunds stuffed with things, and 
topped off by a gorgeous plaid silk scarf. 

"It is really very interesting and Oriental here, 
but I long for home! I am out of sorts, and feel 
ill and strangely opprest. I know something is going 
to happen — something awful! I'm not a particle 
superstitious; I do not believe in signs and omens; 
but ever since I heard that man say that Bela wretch 
had written he was coming here, I can't shake off 
a presentiment of coming trouble. All night long I 
dreamed I was carrying a crying baby. I remember 
that in the book, Jane Eyre had a dream like that, 
the night before she was to marry Rochester. 
Charlotte Bronte, in the novel, makes some one say 
it is 'a sure sign of coming calamity,' for any one 
to dream of holding a wailing babe. I do wish John 
would come, for I feel really ill. He went out to 
smoke, ages ago, and should have been back long 
before this. Oh! I do hope nothing has happened 
to him!" 

"We are just back from a lovely drive to Almissa. 
I had to coax John to take me out, for that Bela's 
coming had so gotten on my nerves I couldn't stay in 

179 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

Spalato a moment longer. I made my poor little 
aching feet the excuse. I told John, truly, that I 
must rest them a little, before I attempted to do any 
more walking. And as if they were not bruised and 
painful enough already, I had to stump my toes last 
night on that 'tarnational' box of ours, after I had 
put out the light! We have almost gotten used, by 
this time, to having the plagued thing sitting around 
everywhere we stop; so, I confess, I actually forgot 
it — but it hadn't forgotten me. And, of course, it 
had to hit my ingrowing nail. It hurt me so terribly 
I had to boohoo — for I couldn't say the lurid things 
John did when the box hurt him! I cried, and cried, 
so hard that John was really worried; he felt sure I 
must have broken some of the bones in my foot. He 
said he was afraid it would be terribly swollen, and 
black and blue this morning. But there wasn't even 
the sign of a bruise! And I certainly was provoked 
at not having the slightest mark to show, after it 
hurt me so badly; for a man never really believes a 
woman is seriously hurt unless there is a big bruise, 
or a lot of blood, or an unsightly looking wound, or 
a scar, or something else to prove it. But John was 
a dear, anyway! He promised to take me driving at 
once, and started right off to order a carriage, the 
very minute I asked him. As the streets here are so 
tiny, there are no vehicles in town; so we had to 
go outside the walls to get into our ramshackle old 

180 



A PRESENTIMENT AND A DRIVE TO ALMISSA 

wreck; but I didn't mind, for John helped me hobble 
along, and I was delighted to leave Spalato behind 
us, even for a few hours. 

"The only carriage John could get was a horrible, 
jolty old hack, but the view was so fine I forgot all 
about the seat — which was as hard as if it had been 
made of brickbats — and the jerks and jolts of the 
springs, or what should have been springs. In fact, 
the scenery was so superb I even forgot all about 
that love-sick fool whose silly letter has become a 
perfect nightmare to me. Of course, I know he can 
not really harm me, and that I am absurd to let his 
meeting us fret me, but I do worry, and it serves 
me right. It serves any woman right to suffer, if 
she acts deceitfully. But I've learned my lesson. 
Never again ! No matter what happens, will I ever 
keep anything from John — my own dear, good John, 
who loves me so much, and is as good as gold to me, 
always ! 

"The day was perfect. After we left Spalato a 
delightful breeze came blowing in from the sea, and 
as the carriage-top kept off the sun, we were quite 
comfortable. The road, for miles, went continually 
up hill, it seemed to me. The spavined, wo-begone 
looking nags simply crawled. When we reached the 
crest of the hill we had a grand view of the wild 
country stretching out far below us. It is called 
Poglizza. The bleak and bare Mt. Messer towered 

181 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

before us, with deep ravines, while green and smil- 
ing valleys snuggled between ridges just like those 
you see in Switzerland. Later, our road dropt down 
again until we reached a marshy bottomland through 
which a little stream meandered. In America, we 
would call it a creek, but here it is called the Xerno- 
vizza River. 

"Crossing a rickety old bridge, we reached Pog- 
lizza, the home of the little black wild cherry, the 
maresca from which is made the maraschino that 
made Zara famous, as beer made Milwaukee. 
The mountains form a great rocky wall, which pro- 
tects the country from the Bora. The climate here 
is most mild and salubrious, and the land as fertile 
as any in Dalmatia. We learned that the Austrian 
Government has done its best to transplant the 
maresca trees, so that Poglizza should not corner 
the supply, but the proud little trees have refused 
to grow when taken from their own hills and hum- 
mocks. We saw lots of cows with big horns graz- 
ing on the hills, and wading in the marshes, nibbling 
the reeds and wallowing in the water. It soon be- 
came so warm I, too, wished for a bath. There were 
many goats, and some sheep. All along we passed 
splendid fig trees and olive groves, besides innumer- 
able orchards devoted to the maresca cherry. 

"At Poglizza, in 1807, the poor little republic was 
'wiped off the map' by Napoleon, in his usual high- 

182 



A PRESENTIMENT AND A DRIVE TO ALMISSA 

handed manner. It seems that the Poglizza forces, 
having taken sides with Russia, were forced to take 
refuge with the Russian fleet in the harbor, thus leav- 
ing the people quite unprotected. The French seized 
their opportunity, and falling upon the helpless peo- 
ple massacred almost the entire population. Homes 
were razed to the ground and looters made off with 
everything worth taking. From that day the little 
'Republic of Pojica,' as the Croat's called it, has 
ceased to exist. 

"Almissa is about sixteen miles from Spalato. It 
is a charming drive all the way. After, passing 
through the hamlet of Postrana, our road ran close 
to the shore, until, coming around a sharp turn, we 
caught sight of Almissa on the opposite bank of a 
'brimming river,' right at the very foot of magnifi- 
cent, hoary crags, towering straight up into the air. 
On a sharp pinnacle of rock, seeming almost to hang 
over the city, is the lovely old castle of 'Mirabella.' 
Unfortunately, only one lone tower remains. We 
didn't attempt to visit it because the rocks are almost 
perpendicular, and we were frankly informed it 
wouldn't pay us for the fatigue and labor of the 
climb. The castle is now only an ordinary store- 
house. But I feel sure the view from the top of 
that crag must be superb and well worth the climb, 
if only my poor feet would have let me attempt it. 

"Almissa itself is the dearest, quaintest little town. 
183 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

It has any number of Venetian windows and doors. 
The church of St. Spirito has a big and homely 
campanile, so old and ugly it is actually picturesque. 
John declared it looked modern enough to him, for 
it reminded him of 'a brewery chimney' — but he 
didn't really mean it. (He was just thirsty, so, 
naturally, he thought of beer.) Near the church we 
found the Communal Palace, whose greatest distinc- 
tion is its name. What I liked best about it was the 
lion of St. Mark carved on a big stone slab set into 
a wall. He has the regulation wings, halo, and 
book, but instead of his 'Peace to Thee My Mark, 
the Evangelist,' which every self-respecting Venetian 
king of beasts is sure to have, his book is closed. 
I'm quite sure there is a story about why and when 
he shut it, but we met no one who could talk Eng- 
lish. John is tired of trying to make people under- 
stand his French and German. He declares it is 
'too much like work!' And it is — not only for him, 
but the poor Croatians. I almost die laughing to 
hear him; for he mixes up his French, Italian, Ger- 
man and English quite unconsciously, making an 
awful linguistic hodge-podge, which no one short of 
an expert in Volapuk could hope to digest. 

"From Almissa the view is simply superb. The 
great cruel-looking crags soar straight up into the 
air in bold terraces of jagged rocks, with deeply cut 
ravines and horrible precipices; while below, the 

184 



A PRESENTIMENT AND A DRIVE TO ALMISSA 

river Cettina goes rushing along past the town, until 
it whirls round a bend and is lost to sight in a 
tremendous rocky ravine which completely swallows 
it up. The country is so wild and picturesque it 
puts you in mind of Sicily. We were not a bit sur- 
prized to hear that once upon a time Almissa was 
the home of pirates. The duomo has a good western 
door, and there is a statue supposed to represent St. 
Michael stamping on prostrate Satan — but to me 
the figures were simply grotesque. What interested 
us more were some pieces of old plate, said to be 
part of the very spoils of the Almissan freebooters 
who made their homes here among the crags in the 
days of old. 

"The story runs that in the long, long ago a band 
of pirates in their rocky retreat heard rumors of the 
wealth of the good fathers who had built their 
monastery on an island, known in ancient times as 
the Island of Diomede. This Diomede, for whom the 
place was named, was that mythological person 
whose followers so loved him and who so mourned 
for him after his death that they were turned into 
sea-gulls, or a flock of some other birds. These 
doves, gulls, or whatever they were, lived on the 
island and constantly hovered over the altars erected 
to their leader. The pious monks, not to be 'gulled' 
by such a far-fetched story, took it with a big pinch 
of salt, but on taking possession of the island actually 

185 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

discovered the pagan altars were there. So they swept 
away every vestige of the old idolatry before laying 
the foundations of their monastery. The frugal, hard- 
working Benedictines, having toiled and moiled for 
centuries, acquired goodly possessions, the value of 
which reached the ears of the rapacious bandits. 

"Believing that the holy 'padres' would be easy 
prey, and wickedly arguing that they needed no 
treasures on earth — having, no doubt, laid up treas- 
ures where neither thieves nor pirates could break 
in and steal — they decided to pay them a visit and 
relieve them of all their unnecessary wealth. To ac- 
complish this, they concocted a plan, a contemptibly 
low and treacherous plan, which worked to a charm. 
The simple-minded fathers were no match for the 
brazen, blood-thirsty free-booters, who, sailing from 
Almissa, arrived safely in the tranquil harbor of 
the island. A solemn-faced bandit was at once dis- 
patched to the monastery to ask the good old abbot 
to give Christian burial to one of their number who 
had died at sea. The unsuspecting ecclesiastic 
willingly acceded to the request. The coffin with the 
dead man was solemnly brought into the chapel, fol- 
lowed by the whole pirate band, walking two and 
two, and looking as solemn as owls, but all the time 
laughing in their sleeves. As the abbot began to 
intone the burial service, his pious brethren reverently 
assisting him, the pirates gathered round the coffin, 

186 



A PRESENTIMENT AND A DRIVE TO ALMISSA 

with bowed heads. Suddenly one of the band gave 
a little cough, when the man playing cadaver jumped 
out of the coffin, and each of the crew seizing the 
knives, guns, and other arms which had been con- 
cealed under the supposed corpse, fell upon the poor 
monks and ruthlessly murdered them, the little chapel 
soon running with blood. Not content with butcher- 
ing the inmates, and looting the monastery of all its 
treasure, the building itself was blown up, and left 
only a mass of smoking ruins. A terrible curse was 
laid by the church upon the perpetrators of this 
horrible outrage. 

"Going back to the hotel, through the Piazza dei Sig- 
nori, I noticed a sweet- faced little woman crying as if 
her heart would break. Two men were with her, but 
they paid no more attention to her than if she had been 
a cat or a dog. She appeared to be about twenty 
years old, and wore a sleeveless Dalmatian jacket, 
and on her head a little pork-pie cap, covered with 
a huge white kerchief, the ends of which were knotted 
under her chin. Her apron was bright red, finished 
with a heavy fringe; it looked exactly like a table 
cover. Over her shoulder she carried two big bags, 
woven in gay stripes of red, green, purple and yellow, 
and evidently of her own manufacture. The men 
carried no impedimenta whatever, so I suppose the 
bags, which appeared to be stuffed full to overflowing, 
contained not only her own but their belongings. 

187 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

"I am sure I don't know why I noticed her so par- 
ticularly. Maybe it was because she was crying so 
hard, and because it makes my American blood boil 
to see how these swaggering Dalmatian lords of 
creation treat their poor, abused women. I can not 
get used to it. These ignorant clowns believe wo- 
men are inferior creatures, fit only to labor in the fields 
and slave at their looms, from morning till night. 
They actually consider it a disgrace to be seen talk- 
ing to a woman — and the poor, browbeaten, over- 
worked creatures meekly endure everything, because, 
as John says, 'they haven't got enough horse sense 
to know any better.' 

"The older man, I guessed at once, must be the 
girl's father. He had on the regulation Dalmatian 
blue waistcoat, and the 'voluminous-in-the-seat-tight- 
in-the-leg trousers.' I noticed that he wore a faded 
red cummerbund and a pair of patched 'opankas.' 
The other man was much younger, and instead of 
the red cap sported a bright crimson fez with a long, 
dangling, black silk tassel, which hung jauntily over 
his left ear. He was a would-be dandy, a Dalmatian 
beau, and I hated him at once, in spite of his gor- 
geous waistcoat, covered with rows of jingling silver 
filigree buttons. His incipient little corn-shucks mus- 
tache was turned up fiercely at the ends, a la 
Emperor William. By the very way he wore his fez 
cocked on one side, and by his strut and jaunty air, 

188 



A PRESENTIMENT AND A DRIVE TO ALMISSA 

I knew in a moment he must be a conceited jacka- 
napes. If he is that poor girl's husband I am sorry 
for her. For I know he is a vain, flirtatious, selfish 
creature. 

"Later in the day, when John and I were walking 
on the splendid broad quay outside the walls, I saw 
the girl again. She was with the old man, but the 
ladida was nowhere to be seen. I caught a pic- 
ture of the girl and her father as they stood together 
on the marina by an old anchor lying on the quay. 
Just as I snapt them, they turned and caught me in 
the act — but they didn't seem to mind. I do so hope 
the film will come out well, for it ought to make a 
splendid picture. I was close enough not only to 
get them nicely, but I caught a glimpse of the 
market square, and the houses along the marina, as 
well as the picturesque shipping in the harbor for 
my background. 

"Poor little woman — her sad face haunts me. I 
wonder why she cried so hard?" 



189 



X 
A DRIVE TO THE JADER AND SALONA 

Once more, a chapter from my diary. "I have 
had such a shock, I hardly know how to write 
about it! Just as I was beginning to think 
how foolish I was to be worrying myself to death 
over nothing, it came like a bolt out of the blue sky. 
I had slipt on my blue crepe kimono and was resting 
in our room while John was out by himself to look 
around a little. He promised that on his way back 
he would stop in and see if there was any mail. 
After writing up our lovely drive to Almissa — and 
telling about my picture of that poor girl weeping 
on the Piazza — at the very moment I was shutting my 
diary, John came in. 'From whom do you think I got 
a letter and a package?' he asked, as he went 
to the table and put down a small, square parcel. 
'I'm sure I can't imagine,' I replied, as indifferently 
as I could; but I was trembling so I could hardly 
keep my voice from showing excitement. 

"Fortunately, John's back was turned, or he must 
have noticed my absurd agitation. I really don't 
remember just what else was said but, exactly as I 
expected, the things in the package were from Bela! 
— only four or five boxes of Turkish cigarets, of a 

190 



A DRIVE TO THE JADER AND SALONA 

certain brand he had told John he wanted him to 
try, I remember, that day in Zara. What he said in 
his letter I do not know. I'm such a silly, excitable 
fool I simply couldn't listen. John read me some- 
thing he wrote about 'he hoped to see us surely, 
either in Ragusa or Cattaro,' and a lot of fulsome 
stuff about his 'sorrow at missing us at Spalato.' 
Then I lost my composure. 'Don't read me another 
word about that silly fool!' I cried hastily. 'What 
do I care about that conceited puppy, or where he 

meets us? I — I hate him; he's a — a .' Then 

I broke down and began to cry. I rocked myself 
back and forth in my chair, and sobbed, 'Oh, oh, oh! 
How my poor feet do ache. They actually torture 
me!' That brought John to me in a moment. 
Thrusting the letter in his pocket, he forgot all about 
Bela. He rushed about to find my slippers, and 
rang the bell — thank heavens there is a bell — ordered 
hot water, and dropping on his knees began taking 
off my shoes. My feet did ache awfully; but I felt 
I was a deceitful, black-hearted creature, so I only 
cried harder and harder. 

"At last, after John had petted me and got me to 
stop crying, he asked wonderingly : 'Girlie, what has 
Bela done? I thought you were tickled to death at 
the way he made up to you that day in Zara? Don't 
you remember, I even got a little provoked at first, 
you two were so "chummy" on a short acquaintance? 

191 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

Your American vivacity and cute ways took the 
fellow right off his feet. I saw him making eyes 

at you, and I felt like kicking him, but when he ' 

'Don't say such things, John,' I hastily interrupted. 
'You know very well I never permit men to "make 
eyes at me !" The idea of such a thing !' John 
stopt bathing my feet and looked at me with open- 
eyed astonishment. 'Look what you're doing!' I 
scolded; 'you are dripping that sponge all over the 
floor.' I spoke crossly — in perfect terror for fear 
he would say something more about that Bela. 

"I'm wondering and wondering if dear old Jo- John 
suspects anything? I did act so ridiculously. He 
looked amazed when I said Bela was a conceited 
puppy. I'm such an impulsive individual, I haven't 
a particle of self-control or dissimulation. But I'm 
glad I haven't. I should hate to be a two-faced, de- 
ceitful creature like some women are. But I am 
sure of one thing; as long as I live I shall never, 
never look at a man again. Jamais de la vie! (John 
says 'never again' isn't half so common and vulgar in 
French.) Maybe it was to punish me for 'pretend- 
ing,' but certain it is that my poor feet have been 
aching terribly ever since I told John that fib 
about them. They are so swollen I can not wear 
any of my shoes. John had to go out and buy me a 
pair of rubber-soled, flat-boats, which were all he 
could find in one of these horrid little 'black holes of 

192 



A DRIVE TO THE JADER AND SALONA 

Calcutta' which pass as shoe-stores here. They are 
low, white canvas things, with square toes, and ab- 
solutely hideous. They have three funny little straps 
of white kid stitched across the toes, which make 
them look as broad as they are long, and my poor 
little feet look a sight in them! But I shall have to 
wear them, altho they are atrociously ugly and 
so large they go 'flip-flop' at every step I take. But, 
oh dear! they are comfortable; and as I can't wear 
anything decent I shall have to look a guy for a 
while. 

"Oh, I mustn't forget to write that yesterday we 
attended mass in the cathedral. Altho the mausoleum 
makes a wee little duomo, it was splendid! The 
place was jammed with worshipers ; with the candles 
lighted, the music of the choir, the priest in his 
robes, and the black-eyed acolytes swinging beautiful 
old brass censers, with yards of clinking chains — it 
was simply divine! I am sure I never will forget 
that service, and the splendid sermon preached from 
the exquisitely carved pulpit; altho, of course, I 
couldn't understand a word. But I enjoyed it ex- 
actly as much, maybe more, than if I had. I 
wouldn't have missed it for anything. 

"John says we will leave Spalato to-day, on what- 
ever boat happens to be leaving. He thinks we can 
take the Lesina, at five this afternoon. It is a little 
boat, and stops every few minutes, but we will take 

193 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

it, because we are in no hurry, and we find there is 
no express steamer for three days. As I couldn't 
walk, we took another drive right after breakfast. 
We went to visit the ruins of Salona, and took in 
the Falls of the Jader, Clissa, and a lot of other 
places which were on our way. The road to Salona 
runs from just outside the Porta Aurea. After a 
few minutes, we came to the remains of Diocletian's 
aqueduct, which is used to-day for the water of 
Spalato. 

"Our road descended into the lovely green valley 
of the Jader, which comes gushing out of the lime- 
stone rocks about two miles above. The odd thing 
about Dalmatia is that it has so few rivers, and 
those it has have an odd way of dropping out of 
sight, and then unexpectedly appearing miles away, 
bursting out of some rock. We have heard that 
there are any number of wonderful caves, with 
suites of rooms and marvelous stalactites, like our 
Luray caverns in Virginia. We left the carriage, 
which was another tumbledown old wreck, at a de- 
lightful old mill, and went the rest of the way to 
the falls on foot. While the falls are pretty, they 
are no finer than our Great Falls of the Potomac, 
the Falls of Schaffhausen, and many others. But 
the surrounding scenery is exquisite. Even Baedeker 
says : 'No view in all Dalmatia can surpass it in 
grandeur.' 

194 



A DRIVE TO THE JADER AND SALONA 

"From the falls we went to a little place called 
Clissa, once conquered by the Emperor Tiberius, 
but what he wanted with it, I can not imagine. We 
had luncheon at a shabby inn, but did not linger in 
the village, for there was nothing of interest to see. 
Further up the road, which meanders all the way to 
Traii, we came to what is known as the Riviera dei 
Sette Castelli. The seven castles are only ruined 
fortresses now, but in them, in ancient times, 
Venetian barons dwelt. The road skirts the shore 
and is dotted with a succession of charming hamlets, 
each clustered about the feet of its own hoary 
stronghold, once the home of the over-lord, to whom 
it owed absolute allegiance. 

"The land here is very fertile; the riviera is 
noted for its balmy climate. The great rocks and 
crags of the bare Cabani mountains rise like a wall 
behind the green fields and smiling orchards, shut- 
ting out the dread Bora. The dark green of the 
tall firs, the flaming colors of blossoming pome- 
granate trees, and the greenish-gray of olive groves, 
combine to form a picture which reminds you of 
Italy. The Mediterranean itself is not more blue 
than the water of the Canelli. Everything was so 
beautiful, all my silly forebodings vanished, as I 
looked at the sparkling waves, dancing in the sun- 
shine, and found delight in the old road with its 
chain of smiling villages nestled at the feet of ruined 

195 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

castles. I felt so happy I laughed at everything, and 
was just like my old self again. My high spirits 
were contagious, for John, too, began to laugh and 
joke, and even the sober-sided old man driving our 
forlorn nags, perked up and tried to talk to us in 
his Croatian gibberish. 

"Herr Pjisic at the hotel told John about these 
feudal barons. He says they were regular old 
tyrants, petty kings, who had unlimited power over 
the people, and bamboozled and lorded it over them 
till the poor, helpless villagers were nothing but 
serfs. At night, when the gates were locked, the 
head man in the village had to bring his baron the 
keys. All the oil-mills belonged to the lord, and he 
claimed a tenth of all the oil, whether one of his 
mills was used or not. These old padrones were 
monopolists of the worst kind. Every one had to 
have a license from him, to buy or sell. He could 
make his tenants sell him their goods for one-tenth 
their value, and then he would turn round and sell 
again at the proper figure. The tongues of all oxen 
slaughtered, and the heads of pigs, belonged to the 
lord of the castle. Worst of all, in time of drought, 
he securely closed all wells and not a drop of water 
could be drawn until he chose to uncover them. 
There was some good in the old rapscallions, after 
all; for Herr Phthisic, as I call him, told John there 
were laws forcing villagers to keep their homes 

196 



A DRIVE TO THE JADER AND SALONA 

clean, and there was a fine for throwing slops out 
of the windows! 

"Salona is very wonderful, but it is only ruins, 
which do not very strongly appeal to me. The larg- 
est and most interesting is a basilica, an ancient 
Christian church, built right over a large cemetery, 
which is thought to date from the time of St. 
Timothy, one of the saints who introduced Chris- 
tianity into Dalmatia. Under the floor of the 
church were found many large sarcophagi, but they 
have all been removed to the museum at Spalato. 
The most famous, because the very oldest Christian 
tomb here, is known as the Pastor Bonus Sarco- 
phagus. It shows 'The Good Shepherd,' with a 
sheep or lamb on His shoulders. There are two re- 
clining figures on the tomb, supposed to represent a 
Christian couple whose sarcophagus it was. Their 
heads are gone, and the other sculptures are all more 
or less defaced. The tomb is roughly carved, and 
inferior both in design and workmanship to the 
Meleager sarcophagus, found outside the Temple of 
^Esculapius, altho the pagan tomb is much older. 

"We walked over to the arena, but very little of 
it remains. Were it not for a flight of crumbling 
steps, and three or four ruined arches, supposed to 
have been a part of the outer wall, it would be diffi- 
cult to recognize it. It is only a deprest, grass- 
covered field, which might have been almost any- 

197 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

thing; but the view from the little hill above the 
arena is superb, and the inland sea of Salona is 
charming. The rippling water lying at your feet, 
glittering in the sunlight, stretches away to Bua and 
Traii, connecting, as with a golden band, the living 
cities of to-day with the bleaching bones of ruined 
Salona. 

"Children are much the same the world over! 
The urchins who dwell near this ancient city fol- 
lowed us in numbers, long before we reached the 
ruins. We were offered every known commodity, 
from pistachio nuts to antic os, in a babble of tongues 
which were something horrible. John picked out 
one little chap, with a tousled head and a huge crop 
of freckles, and told him he didn't want to buy 
either the bits of stone or fragments of broken pots, 
vociferously offered for sale, but that he'd 'pay for 
the monolog.' Seeing their companion get 'some- 
thing for nothing,' the rest of the crowd of young- 
sters set up a roar of protest. To get away, we had 
to throw a handful of 'hellers' to the crowd. While 
the children were fighting over the coppers, we made 
our escape." 

"Dear old Spalato long since was left behind us. 
We are now well on our way to Ragusa, 'the fairest 
gem of Dalmatia; as it is called. It is hard to be- 
lieve it finer than all the other charming places we 

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A DRIVE TO THE JADER AND SALONA 

have seen, but I am willing to be convinced. As the 
harbor of Ragusa is now too shallow for steamers — 
the sea having receded just as it has at Spalato — 
we shall have to dock at a little port called Gravosa. 
How happy I would be, if I only knew that that 
Bela man wouldn't meet us ! Any way, I'm glad he 
wrote John that letter saying he hoped to do so, 
for it makes everything much easier for me. If I 
can only keep from going to pieces when he does 
arrive, everything may yet come out all right. I 
shall just give him one look, which will teach him 
a lesson. If I can only keep cool, and show him, the 
minute he looks at me, how indignant his insolent 
presumption made me, I will yet come out with 
flying colors. Oh! if I only can! 

"We are now on the Lesina, and 'my girl' is on 
board. I have seen her. The old man was her 
father. He had come from his home, somewhere 
back in the country, to see her and her husband off. 
Her lord and master, the Dalmatian dude, I hear, is 
taking her to Constantinople to live! No wonder 
the poor soul weeps, for she knows very well how 
he will treat her when he gets her there. Even now 
he neglects her shamefully. I happened to be look- 
ing down and so I saw her father just as he was 
leaving her. He didn't even kiss her. He simply flip- 
flopped her hand once or twice, nodded to the man 
in the fez, turned and walked down the gangplank, 

199 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

then went off along the quay without once looking 
back. The girl didn't know the steamer rules, I 
suppose, for she came up to our deck to watch him. 
She held her handkerchief in her hand, ready to 
wave him good-by, but the heartless old creature 
never once turned round. I saw how her lips 
trembled as she watched him go, without even one 
last look! At last, as he disappeared from sight, 
she could control her grief no longer. Suddenly 
dropping her head on her arms, she leaned on the 
rail, sobbing as if her poor little heart would break. 

"She was all alone, for the man in the fez had 
deserted her. There were lots of people about who 
watched her, but not a soul to say one kind word to 
the poor heart-broken girl. I stood it just as long 
as I could, and then I went over to her, and putting 
my arm around her, begged her not to cry. Of 
course, it wasn't the thing for me to do, and I felt 
all the critical looks and tittering going on behind 
my back. But I didn't care. I just patted her 
gently on the back, and said softly : 'Please don't 
cry, dear, everything will come out all right. Really 
it will! Some day, I know, God will let you come 
back to your home, and your father. I know He 
will!' 

"She didn't know a word of any tongue but 
Croatian, so couldn't understand a word I said, but 
she was a woman and I a woman, and she knew 

200 



A DRIVE TO THE JADER AND SALONA 

what my heart tried to tell her. She murmured 
something between her sobs, and suddenly raising 
her head seized one of my hands and kissed it pas- 
sionately — pouring out a stream of Croatian as the 
tears flowed down her cheeks, holding my hand 
tightly clasped in both her own. Just then the brute 
in a fez discovered her and ordered her below. As 
if caught in some disgraceful act, she dropt my hand, 
and without a word or look, left me, following 
meekly at her master's heels. After she had gone, 
I felt as well as saw that the people round were 
smiling at me. It was 'such a funny sight to see 
an American lady patting a steerage woman on the 
back, as if they were dear friends.' But I didn't 
care. I'm sure I did right. Maybe Mrs. Grundy 
is often 'shocked' at what our hearts prompt us to do 
— but what does it matter, if God is pleased that we 
are not ashamed to be 'a little kind.' 

"Every one watches me like a cat. We are the 
only Americans on board and, of course, thought to 
be 'millionaires !' How John and I did laugh when 
we heard that. How I do wish that all Americans 
were millionaires, as these people seem to think. I 
know I'd have a trunk, a good, big trunk, and all to 
myself, even if we only went from Washington to 
Baltimore! I'd never, never have a single gown 
'made over,' and I'd buy all the new hats I want. 
But what a lot of difference only a little money 

201 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

makes. Just because I travel first class, and my poor 
girl doesn't, I'm expected not to notice her — even if 
her heart is breaking. Thank God, I am an Ameri- 
can, and come from a country where we are not 
afraid to be human beings — instead of puppets. I'm 
not a particle ashamed of what I did, and John didn't 
mind at all. I was a wee bit afraid he might think 
I made myself 'conspicuous,' so I told him at once — 
to get it over with. He only smiled and nodded his 
head; and I saw he didn't blame me a particle, and 
that he is awfully sorry for her, too. 

"The Lesina docks somewhere every little while, 
so it is hard for me to remember where things oc- 
cur. At one of the little ports where we stopt only 
a few minutes, I caught sight of a boatload of 
Turkish passengers in a queer-looking dugout com- 
ing out to take the steamer. But they very nearly 
missed the boat. It was too comical to see the fran- 
tic efforts two Turks made in trying to row the flat 
tub fast enough to get it to the dock in time. I knew 
they were Turks at once, altho we had heard that 
all subjects of the Sultan wear a fez, whether Mo- 
hammendans or Christians. I saw at once these 
people were Turks, from head to foot. To my 
joy one of them was a woman; one of the veiled 
creatures I'd been so long dying to see. I determined 
to get a good look at her, so I ran down and took 
my position where I could see her come up the 

202 



A DRIVE TO THE JADER AND SALONA 

gangway. No matter how many 'veiled Turkish 
houris' I may see before I die, I shall never forget 
this one! She passed me at close range as she came 
staggering into the steamer. And no wonder she 
staggered! For on her head, or where a head is 
supposed to be, the creature carried an enormous 
bundle of bedding tied up in a cheap, gaily striped 
cotton rug. Her husband and two little Turks, who 
were miniature editions of himself, preceded her, but 
took no notice of her at all, and were entirely with- 
out any 'impedimenta,' notwithstanding the enormous 
load she carried. 

"She was a sight! I gazed at her with all my 
eyes. Venus herself, if garbed in the same Moslem 
'mode,' would be as shrieking a caricature of 'femi- 
nine loveliness.' She wore full, balloon-shaped 
trousers tied in clumsy folds around her ankles. 
They were made of some cheap material like chintz, 
and were yellow, with a sprawling flower design 
in red and green. Her feet were of mammoth pro- 
portions, the largest I ever saw in my life on any 
individual passing as a woman! The Dalmatian 
peasant at Zara, I saw buying 'opankas,' had fairy 
feet compared with this creature's clod-hoppers. To 
make matters worse, she wore on them a pair of 
coarse and clumsy rawhide, hob-nailed shoes, of the 
cheapest home-made variety. Her gown — if it is 
permissible to call it by any such feminine term — 

203 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

was of some purplish-black cotton material, with 
wide yellow and white stripes, running diagonally, 
and forming a huge latticework design. The skirt 
was enormously full and long, and gathered in 
where the waist-line should be, to which was at- 
tached in the back a round, full cape, gathered *to 
the belt, made of the same material. The end of 
the cape was thrown back, so as entirely to envelop 
her head. As if this was not bad enough — for the 
poor creature was nothing but 'a bulk in the day- 
light' — to cap the climax, over the small triangular 
opening in the latticework curtain formed by the 
cape in front, where her face should have been, hung 
a thick, black, impenetrable cloth. It was made of 
some lusterless stuff, covered with sprays of huge 
pink and green tulips. The effect of the black veil 
was horrible! For at a little distance she appeared 
to have a black face, covered with green and pink 
sores. Really and truly, the poor soul was hideous 
enough to frighten any one! I must explain, that I 
never would have known about the chintz Turkish 
trousers she wore under her skirt, nor probably about 
the hob-nailed shoes, only that I wickedly stood 
where I did, and saw her clutch at her shroud as she 
staggered up the gangway with her unwieldly burden. 
"We hear that later on we shall see many more 
of these poor Moslem women. A lady on board tells 
me there are plenty of these wrapt-up creatures 

204 



A DRIVE TO THE JADER AND SALONA 

right now in the steerage. She says one of the 
officers told her we have a veritable 'Shrouded 
Woman of Mostar' on the Lesina. No matter how 
hard it is, I simply must get a glimpse of her; for 
we hear they are the worst-looking 'bundle of clothes' 
of them all. They are all black, and have no head, 
face, or arms, or anything, being only shapeless 
creatures swathed in heavy black garments like 
dominos. No matter how warm the weather, their 
tyrannical lords never permit them to show them- 
selves for an instant. No one dares even to glance 
at one of these shrouded creatures — so how I am 
to get a picture of a Mostar woman I do not know! 
But I'm determined to try. 

"It is very warm to-day, even up on our deck. 
Here in our little cabin it is simply sweltering. I 
can not help thinking how the poor pink-and-green 
creature, huddled up in the crowded steerage, must 
suffer, for she dares not lift her black curtain for 
a minute, even to get a breath of air, for fear some 
one might see her face. Heavens above! if her face 
is no lovelier than her huge, clumsy feet, and big, 
coarse, red hands, she can not be a very dangerous 
siren ! 

"The lady with whom I've been chatting — Frau 
Friedmann is her name — tells me these women of 
the lower class, who have to work all day in the 
fields, throw back their masks when no one is around, 

205 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

to keep from stifling; but the instant any male 
creature appears, they cover themselves and remain 
covered until he is gone. She says no Mohammedan 
woman over twelve years of age ever goes unveiled 
before a man not her father, brother, or husband, 
unless she is a wrinkled old crone, a woman so old, 
and so hideous that even these insanely jealous 
Orientals are fully convinced she is no longer dan- 
gerous. It must be terrible to have to be swathed 
up all the time in hot, uncomfortable things, but it 
is even worse to think of being so horribly old and 
hideous that even a Turk is no longer jealous!" 



206 



XI 

A GLIMPSE OF LESINA 
AND CANNOZA'S FAMOUS PLANE-TREES 

The Austrian shore line is most irregular, being 
deeply indented with gulfs and bays of every shape 
and size imaginable. A succession of attractive 
little islands just off the mainland are scattered 
singly, and in groups, all the way down from 
Trieste to Cattaro. We realized, after it was too 
late, that we should have allowed ourselves more 
time for the trip, in order that we might have been 
able to visit many of the quaint and charming little 
islands, of which we often caught only the most 
tantalizing glimpses. With every mile southward, 
Dalmatia grows more and more enchanting! We 
found the whole Adriatic trip a hundred times more 
picturesque and interesting than we had expected. 

From Spalato our course was due south to the 
small island of Solta, known in ancient times as 
Olynta, famous for delicious honey made from the 
cistus rose and rosemary. Passing through a tiny 
channel between the island of Solta and its near 
neighbor, Brazza, with its little town of Milna — 
which we regretfully had to leave without paying it 

207 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

a visit — our steamer soon after rounded the end of 
the island of Lesina, with its pretty lighthouse, and 
we were in sight of the sheltered harbor. Three old 
forts, all now obsolete, in ancient days protected the 
fascinating little town. While their days of useful- 
ness are over, they still add a romantic touch to the 
harbor's classic beauty. Owing to the girdle of 
sheltering mountains, Lesina is famous for a mild 
climate, and has become a popular winter resort, 
particularly for those with delicate lungs. On the 
quay is a splendid loggia of seven arches, with a 
carved head in the center of each, which now forms 
a part of the adjoining albergo, "Kursalon." 

The loggia is approached by a broad flight of 
marble steps adorned with ornamental shrubs in 
tubs. The door in the central arch leads into a 
spacious hall. The six remaining arches are built 
with long casement windows draped with modern 
window curtains, looking sadly out of place among 
the ancient columns. Over the entrance to the 
Kursalon, which is also the town hall, I noticed a 
fine pair of sculptured lions supporting a time- 
defaced shield. Behind the loggia, on the albergo 
proper, is a stone slab with a splendidly decorative 
Venetian lion of majestic proportions, with three 
twists in his tail and a sadly battered nose. A door 
leads from the second story of this oddly-shaped 
stone building out onto the top of the loggia, forming 

208 



A GLIMPSE OF LESINA 

a commodious porch for the albergo's patrons. Two 
windows in the upper story are joined by a small 
iron balcony, above which is a crazy-looking, sharply- 
pointed tiled roof, in which is a funny square window 
right up in the peak. 

Lesina's clock-tower adjoins the loggia on the 
right. It is square and ugly, finished off with a 
railing and a most absurdly small bell. Behind the 
clock-tower and the Kursalon, fortifications climb 
the hill to its summit, which is crowned with the 
mossy bastion and walls of the deserted Fort Spag- 
nuolo now only a picturesque ruin. 

We learned that there was a charming walk to a 
Franciscan monastery in whose refectory is a "Last 
Supper" by the famous Florentine artist, Matteo Ros- 
selli. The region has a semi-tropical vegetation ; cacti, 
palms, blue-flowered century-plants, and fields covered 
with brilliant wild flowers, abound. But we had not 
a moment to spare to go anywhere. 

Curzola is another island well worth a visit; and 
Meleda, too, with its rocky chasms and wild gorges, 
is as picturesque as Sicily. Passing the broad mouth 
of the river Ombla, we ran into the harbor of 
Gravosa, whose fine modern quay is adorned with 
a magnificent plane-tree. We took a room at the 
Grand Hotel Petka, on the water front, and having 
learned we were in time to catch the boat for Can- 
noza were soon comfortably ensconsced in the glass- 

209 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

enclosed section devoted to visitors. A spick and span 
little steamer makes the trip to Count Gozze's 
famous garden, in a region where the big plane-trees 
grow. In just an hour we stept ashore, and, climb- 
ing a steep hill, entered the noble Ragusan's beauti- 
ful domain, which is open to the public. It is a big 
bouquet of bloom. Walks lie between radiant 
flower-beds, while cherry, plum, date, orange, lemon, 
fig and olive trees make a horticultural paradise. 

The plane-tree region is not far from Count 
Gozze's villa. Both the garden and the big trees 
are well worth seeing. It must be confessed that to 
Americans, who have seen the big red-woods, in 
Mariposa Grove, California, the plane-trees — huge 
as they undoubtedly are — are not so "perfectly won- 
derful!" It is claimed that one of the largest speci- 
mens measures forty feet in circumference, and that 
its branches cover a space of two hundred feet — but 
John drolly remarked, "Please show us that tree — 
we come from Missouri!" 

Walking back along the Gravosa marina to our 
hotel, we came face to face with the oddest-looking wo- 
man. She wore a small, flat, white-cotton head-dress, 
which looked exactly like the ring on which I work 
embroidery. Her long coat was sleeveless and edged 
with braid. I caught a glimpse of a shabby black 
bodice laced up with yellow strings, worn over a 
coarse, once-white garment, which looked remark- 

210 






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LESINA 

LOGGIA AND FORTE SPAGNUOLA 

GRAVOSA 

VIEW OF CITY AND HARBOR 



A GLIMPSE OF LESINA 

ably like a soiled nightgown. Her apron was woven 
in stripes like a variegated rag carpet and finished off 
with coarse cotton fringe. Her skirts were short, 
and didn't show below the coat and apron; but her 
grimy hosiery and huge feet in clumsy 'opankas' did. 
She was bent nearly double by the heavy sack she car- 
ried on her back. It was black with soot, and held 
in position by a hempen rope knotted over her breast. 
But no matter how heavy her load must have been, 
she had certainly not lost the power of her lungs. At 
every few steps she uttered a shrill, piercing cry 
which sounded like a steam siren. We found out 
that she was a Gravosan charcoal pedler, a sort of 
peripatetic coal-yard, which certainly gave all cus- 
tomers due notice of its proximity. There is a 
splendid field in Gravosa for good people who object 
to "unpleasant noises." 

We were tired out when we reached the Petka, 
but found it far from a haven of rest. There was 
no "lift" and our room "mid dare ver' fin' look," 
was three stories up, and reached only by an endless 
staircase, with tiresome landings at every floor. On 
each landing was primly placed a table, flanked on 
each side by hideous, stiff-backed, puritanical- 
looking chairs. Notwithstanding the horrible green- 
glass vases with sadly faded, fly-blown paper-flowers, 
offending my sight on each table, I was so weary I 
would gladly have stopt to rest on any one of these 

211 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

uncomfortable-looking chairs. But John knew better 
than to let me; so I had to toil upward until we 
reached our room. 

The view of the marina and the tranquil harbor 
was lovely. The water was the bluest of blue, and, 
on the opposite curving shore of the bay, the hills 
were clothed with groves of dark-green cypress, 
whose tall, slender spires extended from the shore 
to the very summit of the hill, while far beyond the 
misty forms of distant mountains melted into the 
cloudless blue sky, or merged into the limpid azure 
sea. 

Having washed, and then reveled in the view to 
our heart's content, we were ready to make the 
downward journey, for we had had a busy day, and 
were ravenously hungry. Preferring to be served 
outdoors in the little vine-covered garden, in front 
of the Petka, we were conducted to the only vacant 
table by a profoundly self-important major-domo, 
who waved us to our little iron chairs with a lordly 
air, quite out of keeping with the wobbly table and 
the hills and hollows of the pebbled ground. 

"It is just like a German beer-garden," I whis- 
pered, when the austere gentleman had retired to a 
safe distance. 

"Yes, all but the beer," John replied with a sigh, 
as he put down his glass in disgust. 

But if the beer was "luke warm and insipid," the 
212 



A GLIMPSE OF LESINA 

dinner, when it at last appeared, was excellent — for 
Gravosa. Then, too, we were so hungry that our 
voracious appetites would .have made the poorest 
cooking palatable. 

Our table was in a corner of the garden where 
blooming oleanders formed a fragrant pink barrier, 
which shielded us from the curious eyes of people 
strolling along the marina. We were the only 
patrons speaking English, and discovered that Eng- 
lish was a language of which not one of the waiters 
could be made to understand a word. But, most 
fortunately for us, "beefsteak" is almost the same in 
all tongues, and is a word every "gargon" seems to 
know, or many times we might have gone hungry. 

By much practise John had acquired a set formula 
by which he ordered dinner everywhere; a string 
of words which always procured us something to 
eat — if not precisely the things we ordered. Follow- 
ing "beef-steak," the key-word, with "potatoes," John 
added, by way of explanation, "Grundbirne, patata, 
pomme de terre, Kartoffel, porno di terra, or any 
other name you please, but we want some of the 
edible, farinaceous tubers, known in God's country as 
'per-taters !' " Many times I have laughed until the 
tears were in my eyes, not so much at John's 
nonsense, as at the absurd look upon the face of the 
stolid individual who was serving us. In the end 
the joke was invariably on us. For after gravely 

213 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

taking our order, they would bring us whatever hap- 
pened to be handy. 

The garden was crowded with people. Natty, 
well-groomed Austrian officers, with dangling swords, 
gold braid, and brass buttons, were seen at many 
tables. There were so many men in uniform I made 
a count. There were seventeen in uniform and 
eleven without — and the eleven men without in- 
cluded all the waiters. There were a number of 
pretty Austrian girls, stylishly gowned, dining with 
the officers, fashionable-looking young ladies whose 
chic hats and modish costumes evidently were im- 
portations from Vienna or Paris. I found it most 
entertaining to watch the people and listen to the 
hubbub around us. I never tired of looking at 
passers-by on the marina, and at the charming view 
of the harbor, where a fine Austrian warship lay at 
anchor. But while I may forget, in time, all these 
things, I will always remember the dessert we had 
with that dinner at the Grand Hotel Petka in Gravosa. 

Knowing that "Sprudel" was a German sweet- 
cake, and seeing the word among the blurred blue 
hieroglyphics on the menu handed him, John ordered 
a Sprudel for himself, while I preferred to try 
something with a name which looked as if it might 
be intended for watermelon. On being served, the 
Sprudel proved to be of huge proportions, so John 
proceeded to cut off a generous piece and put it 

214 



A GLIMPSE OF LESINA 

on my plate. At the same moment our nostrils were 
assailed with a horrible odor. I saw John suddenly 
lean over and spear with his fork the portion of the 
delicacy he had given me, and quickly replace it on 
the dish. Calling a waiter, he ordered him to "take 
it away, quick!" 

When the man with the sprudel was gone, the 
sickening odor gradually passed away. Then John 
confessed he had taken but one mouthful and found it 
to be "the most awful mixture he had ever tasted in 
his life." The sprudel had been sweet pie-crust, 
as he had known when ordering it, but the filling, 
instead of being the luscious fruit or tasty jam he 
expected, was — hot, boiled cabbage! Not having 
recognized the combination written in German 
chirography, it turned out that he had unconsciously 
ordered the Austrian titbit known as a "Kraut 
sprudel," and this time he got what he ordered ! 

When John had finished his after-dinner smoke, 
and I had drained the last drop of my delicious, 
black Turkish coffee, there was nothing to do. There 
were no sights to see, and nowhere to go in Gravosa ; 
and it was much too early to think of retiring. 
Then, too, the thought of toiling up again, round 
and round the well-hole in the Petka, seemed to me 
almost like climbing up to the top of the Wash- 
ington Monument on foot. I was determined to 
do anything, and go anywhere in order to put off 

215 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

the evil hour when I would again have to make an 
"ascent." 

Not realizing that we were sadly offending, by- 
breaking all precedents, we walked up the marina 
and took the trolley-car for Ragusa, hoping to get 
at least a glimpse of the town before bedtime. I 
discovered afterward that it was horribly declasse 
for American millionaires, as we were supposed to 
be, to ride in a car, instead of in one of the ram- 
shackle old hacks they call a carriage. I noticed, at 
the time, that the officers who rode over to Ragusa 
with us in the car, eyed us curiously; but I prided 
myself it was because we talked English, and they 
could see we were not English — but Americans. 
They see very few Americans, and we were good 
to look at! 

That humble car ride was a treat. All the way 
to Ragusa we passed lovely villas, whose well-kept 
gardens were perfect bowers of bloom. I have 
seen many lovely oleander trees in Italy, but never 
in all my life anything more like a huge bouquet 
than the oleanders we passed on this ride. They 
were simply laden with fragrant blossoms. I par- 
ticularly noticed an old stone wall, covered with bloom, 
close by where the car stopt on the loop to let another 
pass. We had quite a wait, for the car had been de- 
tained for some reason; but I was delighted, for it 
gave me an opportunity to enjoy the most exquisite 

216 



A GLIMPSE OF LESINA 

combination of oleanders in bloom I ever saw growing. 
An artist himself must have planted the trees, which 
ranged in color from pale pink to lilac, and from pure 
white to deepest yellow, all blending together in a 
fragrant mass, whose beauty would have delighted 
the eyes, and warmed the heart of the most critical 
floriculturist. 

One of the most palatial residences we passed we 
discovered was owned by a veritable American mil- 
lionaire. It seems that twenty odd years ago a poor 
Dalmatian sailed away from Gravosa to make his 
fortune in America, the land of golden promise — as so 
many of his countrymen continue to do to-day. This 
emigrant was not only a hard-working, thrifty Dal- 
matian, but a lucky one as well. For he "struck oil," 
and some years afterward returned to his native land 
a millionaire. At once he purchased this splendid 
estate near Ragusa, and had erected upon it a princely 
mansion. It required three years to build the "palace." 
After he had taken possession, the poor man became 
homesick for America, as there was nothing here for 
him to do. Deserting his magnificent abode he sailed 
away again, lured by the lights and bustle of the 
Great White Way in dear old New York. 

The funny part of the story is, that he always 
"expects to return shortly," and continues to refuse 
every offer made him for his property, which the 
Dalmatians desire to turn into a casino — as our 

217 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

coachman informed us when we drove by, a day or 
so after. He has now been gone so long, his coun- 
trymen wisely believe he will never return. John 
says, altho even the better class of foreigners think 
us crude and inartistic and all that, there is some- 
thing in our golden sunshine and fresh, free air that, 
once having known they can never get out of 
their blood. When the hour comes, and they have 
their heart's desire and return to their own land, lo! 
they find it is too late. Like the Dalmatian Ameri- 
can, when they return home, they find it is home to 
them no longer. The siren charms of "the land of 
the free and the home of the brave" bring them 
back to her feet. She has given them her money — 
but has stolen their hearts. On the steamer, I re- 
member hearing an Englishman confess, "I stayed 
too long in America. When I returned to my own 
town in Cornwall, it was quite changed. I wouldn't 
live in the place now, if they were to give me the 
whole shire — it is too deadly slow!" And yet in the 
next breath, he abused everything American, roundly, 
and expatiated on the absurdity of "living so beastly 
farst!" 

Never will I forget my first impression of Ragusa! 
Lovely, medieval Ragusa, which we saw in the 
mystic gloaming! The twilight had fallen as we 
crossed the square Piazza at the end of the trolley 
line, and made our way past the cafe with its little 

218 



A GLIMPSE OF LESINA 

tables set out under the thick shade of mulberry 
trees. With strange, sad music played upon a two- 
stringed "guzla" dying away behind us, we stept 
within the shadow of the stupendous walls and en- 
tered the ancient Porta Pile. 

In the dusk we saw faintly over our heads the 
gray form of a hoary saint. He looked down 
benignly from his time-stained Renaissance niche, 
with a smile of welcome, his hand raised in blessing. 
It was St. Biagio — or St. Blaise as he is also known — 
the city's patron saint. His patriarchal figure is 
seen over all the gates and on the frowning bastions ; 
his painted portrait, or sculptured form, greets you on 
every side through all Ragusa. But he was not 
always its patron saint; many centuries ago St. 
Sergius had that honor. 

The legend runs that one bleak winter's day, in 
the year of our Lord, 1026, a weary and footsore 
traveler arrived in Ragusa. Tapping gently at the 
gate of the monastery, just within the city walls, 
the stranger humbly asked for food and a night's 
lodging — promising to pay what he was able. The 
good Franciscan brother smiled at this, for the poor 
wayfarer was in rags and had nothing but a small 
bundle tied up in cloth, which hung upon the end 
of the stick he carried across his shoulder. The 
traveler, however, was taken in and made welcome. 
In the morning, after thanking the brother for his 

219 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

kindness, the stranger presented him with his bundle 
as payment for what he owed, informing the amazed 
ecclesiastic that it contained a holy relic, the head of 
St. Biagio, which he would leave as a gift to the 
monastery. He also declared that, in the night, the 
saint had appeared to him in a dream, warning him 
that the Venetians were about to attack the city. 
The monk, having listened with breathless interest 
to the narration, ran with the sacred relic and his 
amazing story to consult with his brethren. He 
was admonished to return immediately and fetch the 
stranger. But on returning to the spot where he had 
left him, the man was nowhere to be found, altho 
the outer gates were still securely closed and the 
great iron key was hanging in its place. 

Thus, forewarned of their danger, the Ragusans 
were victorious. The wily Venetian foe, foiled 
in their tricky design to take the city unawares, was 
put to ignominious flight. From that day St. Biagio 
has been Ragusa's beloved patron saint. His head, 
so miraculously received, is to-day still sacredly pre- 
served behind bolts and bars in the treasury of the 
cathedral, in a beautifully wrought reliquary of 
cloisonne enamel, ornamented with exquisite gold 
filigree. In other jeweled receptacles are a foot, 
and a hand, also of the famous Asiatic bishop, but 
how these relics were secured "the chronicle sayeth 
not." 

220 



A GLIMPSE OF LESINA 

Passing through the archway under the saint, de- 
scending a winding way between massive walls, 
which excited the unbounded admiration of Napo- 
leon, as well as the wonder of his generals, we turned 
sharply and, emerging through another aperture in 
an inner wall, found ourselves in the ancient city. 

Before us in the gloom stretched in a straight line 
the well-paved Corso, lined on either side by ancient 
churches and monasteries, public buildings, private 
dwellings and tiny shops. At the far end of the 
twinkling lights which now began to outline the 
shops and dwellings, rose the dark form of the 
towering campanile, the ancient Torre dell'Orologio, 
the hoary clock-tower, guardian of the Piazza. It 
has looked down through countless years on the old 
duomo and the new; on St. Biagio and the arcaded 
Dogana; on the changing crowds ever coming and 
going at its feet. The weary hands still make their 
endless round on the old dial, as the venerable time- 
piece patiently marks off each passing hour. But its 
voice has long been hushed, like the voices of the un- 
numbered host, who in bygone ages have passed 
below through the somber portal in its old walls, 
never, never to return. 

As we left the city to return to Gravosa, I glanced 
back at the ancient stronghold, a stronghold which 
was old centuries before Columbus was born, and 
which had a splendid commerce and civilization 

221 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

when London was still a country town. Out of the 
night rose before me a mystic city, crowning pre- 
cipitous rocks which rose majestically from the sea, 
with medieval towers and turrets, massive walls and 
frowning battlements, ancient monasteries and time- 
mellowed palaces — a dream city of the past; but a 
city which on the morrow would wake again with 
all its archaic life. 

Quaint, adorable Ragusa — medieval from Porta 
Pile to Porta Plocce, from Torre Menze, your highest 
bastion on the mountain, to your lowliest rocks 
washed by the waves — changeless city; still the 
Ragusa of the Middle Ages, canopied by the same 
tranquil stars, lulled to rest by the same eternal sea! 

My diary for Wednesday night, written on the 
top of the Grand Hotel Petka, now runs: "I've 
only a moment, for I'm so weary and tired I can 
hardly keep my eyes open, let alone write. While 
everything is still fresh in my mind, I must tell 
about 'my girl/ and put down the story just as it 
happened. Poor little soul! She cried so much I 
couldn't get her off my mind. Unconsciously I 
found myself watching her, and over and over again 
saw her crying softly to herself, or standing motion- 
less with tightly clasped hands, her face always 
turned toward that far-away peasant home in the 
mountains behind Spalato. She was a pitiful, for- 

222 



A GLIMPSE OF LESINA 

lorn little figure, and always quite alone. The man 
in the fez didn't notice her at all. He was off some- 
where all the time, hobnobbing with the men. 

"It happened that on a rainy day in Venice I 
bought some zephyr and began to make a sacque. 
I crochet so rapidly I felt sure I could finish it that 
day, or the next, and so could get it off by post be- 
fore John became provoked and scolded me for buying 
such absurd things as zephyr and a crochet hook, 
'only to have to lug them all over Europe.' But the 
next day was fair, and, altho the sacque was all 
finished except the border, I never got an oppor- 
tunity to take another stitch. I had slipt it in be- 
tween my shirt-waists at the very bottom of my suit- 
case and forgotten all about it. One day, while sit- 
ting on the deck of the Lesina, when John was off 
playing cards with somebody, I suddenly remem- 
bered it. I ran down to our cabin and got it out 
and fell to work like a Trojan. The ball of zephyr 
persisted in rolling out of my lap. I picked it up 
again and again, and then to my dismay it went 
skimming across the deck and disappeared under the 
rail — falling into the dirty steerage. I broke my 
yarn at once, and went quickly to the rail to see if 
I could locate the ball; but it was nowhere in sight. 
Soon after I noticed 'my girl' coming toward me, the 
ball in her hand. Her eyes were red, so I knew at 
once she had been crying again. When I thanked 

223 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

her she didn't even look at me, but I caught her as 
she glanced at the sacque. A sudden inspiration 
came to me. 'See!' I cried; 'isn't it cute?' holding it 
up for her to see. 'I'm making it for a tiny little 
American baby!' Almost unconsciously she stretched 
out her hand and I gave her the dainty, little, white 
wool thing. She gazed at it like a child dazed with 
the glory of its first fine dolly. Her whole expres- 
sion changed; she held it up with both hands with 
a rapturous light in her eyes; then carefully ex- 
amined it, patting it lovingly with the tips of her 
work-hardened fingers. Her face was transfigured. 
I saw her look of yearning maternity — and then I 
knew! 

"I suppose I did a foolish thing, for I promised 
her right then and there that she should have the 
sacque just as soon as I finished it. I felt sure she 
understood me — but the next moment she had gone. 
After supper, long after it had grown dark, John 
and I sat together talking things over. From where 
I sat in my steamer-chair, I could look down on the 
steerage deck. By the light of a lamp, I caught 
sight of my girl sitting on a low box, or something, 
far forward between two barrels. She fascinated 
me; she acted so peculiarly I could not take my eyes 
off her. I couldn't be sure it was she, for the light 
was dim, but we both thought it was, as we watched 
her. Altho she could not possibly see us, she acted 

224 



A GLIMPSE OF LESINA 

as if she knew some one was watching her. Several 
times she hid her face in her hands, and then started 
up and looked wildly about her; then crouched 
back again, as if trying to hide herself between the 
oil-barrels. I told John I felt sure she was about 
to do herself some harm. But he laughed at me, 
and declared it was only my imagination. Manlike, 
he often ridicules what I know from woman's in- 
tuition. But this time, I felt sure I was right. 
Something seemed to tell me to act — and act quickly. 

" 'Jo nn > go down ! Go down to her at once/ I 
whispered. 'Oh, please, please go!' I earnestly im- 
plored, laying a trembling hand upon his arm. He 
hesitated. At that very moment the girl got up. We 
saw her look quickly around, and then stealthily 
make her way toward the rail. I didn't have to 
speak again. Convinced at last that something was 
wrong, John darted noiselessly away. Thank God! 
he was just in time! She was trying to climb the 
lail to throw herself overboard at the very instant 
he reached her. She gave a piercing scream, as he 
clutched her by the skirts and dragged her back. No 
matter what he may say, I know he saved her life. 
Everybody praised him up to the nines; and oh! I 
was so proud of him. 

"The story ran like wildfire all over the boat, and 
there was an awful hubbub. John declared he had 
done nothing to make such a fuss about, and that 

225 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

any credit there was belonged to me. But that was 
just like John! He never poses, and he hates the 
limelight. When everything was over, the man in 
the fez and a crowd of steerage folks swarmed 
around her, all chattering like magpies. John asked 
one of the officers to tell the fellow in the fez to 
treat her more kindly — and the selfish creature 
promised he would, for he was frightened. 

"There is only one more thing to tell. When I 
went down to say good-by, and give her the sacque 
as I had promised, I had quite a time in finding her. 
At last I discovered her, busily engaged in stuffing 
a lot of things in her striped bags. She had tied up 
her bedding in a huge bundle. As the 'fez' was not 
around, she even dared to smile a little. I had on my 
new blue beads John bought me in Venice. They 
caught her eye at once. These poor, benighted peasants 
all believe in luck, and charms, and live in terror of the 
evil eye. Blue beads are supposed to be a sure pro- 
tection, and a most potent charm, insuring their 
wearer not only against the evil eye, but preventing 
broken legs, diseases, fires, loss of money and other 
misfortunes. I remember in Naples we saw blue 
beads around people's necks and tied on donkeys — 
dangling from their manes and tails. 

"So when the girl cried 'Schon! Schon!' I under- 
stood she meant 'beautiful.' Before John could say 
a word, I unclasped my necklace and put it in her 

226 



A GLIMPSE OF LESINA 

hand, saying, 'Gliick auf — Good luck to you! Then 
I turned quickly and walked away, so she couldn't 
say anything, or try to give them back. John de- 
clared it was a most foolish thing to do, to give 
a girl like that my pretty Venetian beads. He says 
he knows I will be very sorry some day. I insisted 
I never would be — but, oh dear! I am sorry already. 
I know it is abominably selfish, but I did love them; 
they were so becoming. Now I haven't a thing 
to keep up my lace collars and in my Dutch-neck 
waists I shall look a regular fright without them. 
But way down in my heart I am glad I gave them 
to her, whenever I think how happy they will make 
her. She believes they will bring her good luck and 
avert evil — so they will. Good luck to her — and to 
that dear little bark which God will send her from 
over the sea. Yes, I am glad; really glad." 



227 



XII 

RAGUSA: A CHRISTIAN LIGHTHOUSE 
IN A MOSLEM SEA 

In the twilight, Ragusa with her old gates, feudal 
walls, and towering battlements was so enchantingly 
ancient, and it had such an alluringly medieval 
flavor, we were almost afraid to make a thorough 
inspection in "the garish light of day," fearing we 
would be wofully disenchanted. But we might have 
saved ourselves all misgivings, had we but known 
that the unique charm of the quaint little city be- 
comes more accentuated with every hour of closer 
acquaintance. 

Ragusa is a very small city, but so picturesque, so 
well paved, and so scrupulously clean, that it takes 
rank, in these respects at least, with famous Italian 
cities, like Florence and Pisa, of which it often 
reminds you. In its general arrangement, Ragusa 
follows the plan of Venice. The Corso runs at 
right-angles with the Piazza on which, at the further 
end, is the Rector's Palace, exactly as the Piazza San 
Marco turns into the Piazzetta on the end of which 
is the Doge's Palace. On each side of the Corso, 
are narrower thoroughfares with charming Venetian- 

228 




< 

in 

o 
< 
Pi 



A CHRISTIAN LIGHTHOUSE IN A MOSLEM SEA 

Gothic doorways and lovely windows with graceful 
balconies, which, no doubt, earned for the city her 
nickname of "Venezia Minore." 

Whole volumes have been written about the minia- 
ture, but famous, Republic of Ragusa — as the city 
became known during the pontificate of Pius V., in 
the sixteenth century. It has known many vicissi- 
tudes. For centuries it had cause to fear, not only its 
known foes, but the treacherous designs of those 
who posed as friends. To-day, Ragusa's importance 
as a maritime power has gone, with her vanished 
merchantmen. But like a wee bit of flotsam left on 
the sands of time as the centuries have swept by, 
unchanged and unchanging through all the years, she 
remains inviolate — a city of the Middle Ages still 
sheltered by her massive walls. 

The first settlement dates from the time when a 
Roman noble had his fortified castle on the rocky 
promontory. Below, in the shadow of his walls, a 
few fishing huts were built upon the shore. The 
authorities differ by several centuries as to the exact 
date, but in what is known as the Dark Ages, crowds 
of refugees sought safety here — fugitives from 
Salona, ravaged by the barbarian Slavs, and from 
the ancient city of Epidaurus, ten miles away, now 
known as Ragusa Vecchia, or old Ragusa. The lord 
of the castle succored the refugees. He permitted 
them to form a small community of their own, pro- 

229 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

tected by his feudal battlements and his little army 
of retainers. With the passing of years the little 
cluster of fishing huts disappeared and a town rose 
in their place, a town well built and peopled by 
skilful workmen, proficient in the arts and crafts of 
Greece and Rome, inhabitants possessing the culture 
and civilization they had brought from their own 
ancient cities. 

Ragusa's proudest boast is never-failing Christian 
charity, a hospitality which is world famous. 
Through all past centuries her gates have never re- 
mained closed to the cry of the needy — be they great 
or small. She has given refuge and timely succor 
again and again to fugitive kings and to fleeing 
nobles. The humblest mortals have never craved 
her protection in vain. Almost as if by a miracle 
the tiny republic, like a lighthouse on a rock, has 
endured through the storms which raged around it — 
a Christian beacon whose faithful light has never 
been quenched by the turbulent sea of infidelity 
which encircled it. Like a brave color-bearer Ragusa, 
through years of conflict with the Moslem foe, has 
fearlessly held aloft, high above the gory standard 
of the victorious Star and Crescent, her golden ban- 
ner of the Cross. 

While Ragusa's boast that her portals have never 
been profaned by the foot of a Moslem foe is just, 
still her much-vaunted independence and long-pos- 

230 



A CHRISTIAN LIGHTHOUSE IN A MOSLEM SEA 

sest freedom were only made secure by strategy. 
At exactly the proper moment, she dexterously shifted 
from one powerful protector to another. With craft 
and skill worthy of her Turkish neighbors, she has 
owed her safety many times to her ability in setting 
her enemies to fighting one another. Charming little 
stories enhance greatly the interest of the tiny 
medieval city, stories which not only strongly ex- 
emplify the practical Christianity of Ragusans, but 
show them to have been adepts in the arts of 
diplomacy. 

In the fourteenth century, fugitives from Servia, 
Bosnia, and Herzegovina were guests of the city, 
having fled before the approach of Turkish hordes 
then overrunning Europe. When the Sultan's army 
demanded the surrender of the refugees and threat- 
ened the city, Ragusa firmly refused, altho fully 
conscious of the danger she incurred by thwarting 
the will of the victorious hordes almost at her gates. 
The bellicose Turks made insistent demands and 
terrifying threats, but through all their clamor, 
Ragusa remained obdurate, calmly refusing to sur- 
render those to whom she had given shelter. The 
Sultan marveled at her courage and his wrath was 
finally appeased, and he ceased his threats, declaring 
that "so hospitable a state as Ragusa can never 
fall!" 

A century later, survivors of a wrecked vessel 
231 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

were taken into the city and shown every kindness. 
Two of those who had been saved from a watery 
grave by Ragusan fishermen, proved to be the Papal 
admiral, Marcantonio Colonna, and Sforza Palla- 
vicino, a famous Venetian general. Their rescue 
and hospitable treatment gained for the republic 
the gratitude of Rome and of Venice, the latter 
the most feared, most powerful and wily of all 
her enemies. 

From the earliest times a most devout Christian 
city, Ragusa was ever a favorite protege of Rome. 
Pope Urban V. granted the republic's request for 
permission to enter into a trade alliance with the in- 
fidels, a stroke of most sagacious diplomacy which 
had far-reaching results. It not only secured the 
trade of the Turks, but made them friends, and, in 
later years, it gave Ragusa almost a monopoly of an 
immensely profitable trade with the Levant. While 
making the most out of her business with the infidels, 
she preserved friendly relations with the rest of Europe 
by an unswerving devotion to Christianity, and her sys- 
tematic refusal to be drawn into the ever-recurring 
wars which embroiled her neighbors. This was the 
more necessary because of the smallness of the re- 
public and her geographical position, both of which 
made her a most easy prey. 

In the sixteenth century the republic discovered 
that the Venetians were secretly concocting designs 

232 



A CHRISTIAN LIGHTHOUSE IN A MOSLEM SEA 

against her, being jealous of her independence. 
Realizing that their friend, the pope, was an old man, 
the Ragusans were wise enough to see that at his 
death the voracious Lion of St. Mark, undeterred, 
might make some pretense the excuse for gobbling up 
such a savory morsel as their unprotected republic. So 
the senators conferred and decided to send ambassa- 
dors to all Christian nations, seeking their support. By 
shrewd representations, seconded by the powerful 
influence of the aged pope, an alliance was thus se- 
cured, which made Ragusa the "Ward of Christen- 
dom." A clause in the treaty, signed by the powers, 
distinctly stated that "no act of hostility shall be 
committed against Ragusa, or her territory." 

Spain, Venice, Hungary, and the Empire then be- 
came sponsors for the small republic, together with 
the Barbary Deys and the Turks. This condition of 
affairs earned for the wily state the mocking 
sobriquet of "Le Sette Bandiere" — the seven ban- 
ners. But Ragusa could well afford to let others 
smile, for she smiled last, and best. More than once 
she successfully pitted one of her "protectors" against 
another, when serious dangers beset her. Historians 
declare this to be the real secret of her having been 
able to retain her independence through centuries of 
storm and stress. 

Knowing the story of little Ragusa's constant 
struggle to keep from being absorbed by her de- 

233 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

signing neighbors, or submerged by the Moslem sea 
when it was sweeping all Europe before it, she be- 
comes even more interesting. Knowing her glorious 
past we can well understand why her citizens proudly 
tell you they are not Austrians, or Italians, or 
Slavs, but Ragusans! The republic may be small 
and old, and of little importance, but her famous 
story adds new luster to every object our eyes rest 
upon. 

As truly "delightful" as we found other Dalmatian 
cities, they all sank into insignificance when com- 
pared with this "fairest gem of Adria," a lovely 
medieval jewel still boasting its original, antique 
setting. Few cities in the world can offer the 
traveler such a number of unique attractions. All 
the modern comforts can be secured at more than 
one of the excellent hotels just outside the walls, to 
which is added an exquisite situation high above the 
bluest of blue seas, on a shore clothed with luxuriant 
semi-tropical vegetation. With a glorious history 
recorded unbrokenly by a long line of illustrious 
writers, the republic is also the proud possessor of a 
store of ancient relics, which, in richness of workman- 
ship and artistic beauty, have rarely been excelled — 
heirlooms hoarded by monks with loving care in old 
cupboards black with age, treasures protected by 
bolts and bars, and safeguarded by locks with many 
keys in the dim vaults of church treasuries. And 

234 



A CHRISTIAN LIGHTHOUSE IN A MOSLEM SEA 

there are other treasures — even more precious to 
some of us — exquisitely carved capitals and graceful 
columns, soaring campaniles and ancient palaces, 
hoary clock-towers and time-mellowed buildings, still 
protected by the same massive walls and frowning 
bastions which have preserved them unimpaired for 
more than a score of centuries — for our delight, and 
for the joy of posterity. 

The moment you step within the stupendous walls 
the prosaic twentieth century is left behind you. Shut 
in a narrow space, a winding road, descending be- 
tween the walls of the fortifications by a sudden 
turn, brings you into the city — and back into the 
Middle Ages! The straight, well-paved Corso, or 
Stradone as it is often called, stretches before you, 
lined on both sides with fine buildings, tiny shops, 
hoary churches, and queer dwellings, and gay with 
an attractive crowd of people sauntering to and fro. 
A crowd in which are seen Dalmatians of every type 
and class, interspersed with a sprinkling of people of 
all other nationalities. At the far end of the Corso 
is the ancient Torre dell'Orologio, a most picturesque 
clock-tower with an arch under it, through which 
runs the tortuous road under many walls and over 
many bridges to Porta Plocce, the other gate of this 
most quaint of fortified cities. 

The first thing which catches the eye on entering 
by Porta Pile is an ancient fountain, a polygon in 

235 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

shape, with a low stone dome. It is of huge dimen- 
sions, its sides marked off with slender columns, be- 
tween each of which are time-worn bronze orna- 
ments. In the center of the escutcheons are heads, 
some of animals, some of men, from the mouths of 
which, by pressing a button, a wee little stream of 
water is made to trickle forth. If not caught in a 
receptacle, the water falls into the deep trough 
extending round the fountain, finished off by a 
stone balustrade. In ancient days the tops of the 
columns were adorned with graceful figures encircling 
the dome. All these disappeared centuries ago. The 
fountain once boasted the signs of the zodiac, but 
only one now remains; while it may have lost some 
of its pristine glory it does not show it. It still re- 
mains a useful ornament and an attractive monu- 
ment to Onofrio de la Cava, the long departed engin- 
eer in whose honor it was constructed. 

The fountain is just a fountain. Onofrio's story 
makes it something more. Onofrio was a Neapolitan, 
and not only an able architect, but a skilful engineer 
as well. Early in the fifteenth century he was en- 
gaged to construct an aqueduct, to supply the city 
with water, from a stream some eight miles back 
in the hills. For this work a certain sum was pro- 
vided, and Onofrio's contract stipulated that the 
work should be finished within a given time. As 
so often happens, even to-day, the money was ex- 

236 



A CHRISTIAN LIGHTHOUSE IN A MOSLEM SEA 

hausted long before the aqueduct was completed, and 
the tax-payers began to grumble. Onofrio was declared 
incompetent, and his aqueduct an impossibility. Mal- 
contents accused him openly of being a "grafter," 
or whatever was the term used in those days. For- 
tunately for Ragusa, and for Onofrio himself, the 
matter was left to a board of inquiry, an honest 
board, which, after careful consideration, unani- 
mously decided in favor of another appropriation, 
and giving Onofrio a chance to prove he could suc- 
cessfully finish the work. Finally, in 1438, the 
aqueduct was completed, and the event celebrated 
with public rejoicing. To this day it supplies the 
city with spring water from the mountains. It was 
in recognition of Onofrio's services that the funds 
to construct this fountain were raised by popular 
subscription. Upon it an inscribed plate bears his 
name and the words "Architecto Municipes." 

A smaller fountain at the other end of the Corso, 
a few steps from the clock-tower, is also the work 
of Onofrio. It is very pretty, with its Gothic foliage 
crowning fat-faced cherubs, who squirt little streams 
of water from wide-open mouths. Above are five 
small dolphins hanging by their tails, and spouting 
smaller streams into an upper basin. The fountain 
proper is octagonal in shape and has full-length bas- 
relief figures carved on each side, on panels below 
the massive curbing. 

237 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

At almost any hour of the day a snapshot of 
picturesque Ragusans can be caught here. The foun- 
tain, raised from the Piazza by a broad, low step, 
is built in part under a quaint round arch let into 
the wall of the building behind. This arch has time- 
stained stone ribs dividing it off into sections, and 
by its somber shadow it makes a most effective 
background for the picture formed by gossiping 
crowds in gorgeous costumes drawing water and 
chattering together at the fountain. 

Just across from the larger fountain, near Porta 
Pile, is the pretty chapel of St. Salvatore. Like most 
things in Ragusa, it has a delightful story which, to 
you and me, adds additional charm to relics of a 
vanished era. It was erected in 1520, "to express 
the gratitude of the city to St. Biagio and the Blessed 
Virgin," who, by timely intervention, saved Ragusa 
from being overwhelmed by the earthquake of that 
year. We are told by Rizzi — one of the city's his- 
torians — that twenty persons were killed and many 
injured; and that property of a value of 100,000 
ducats was destroyed. 

Gelcich, another authority, gives several interesting 
facts. "This shock," he says, "caused much spiritual 
benefit, for many people confessed their sins, said 
prayers, and gave alms. Each Sunday the Govern- 
ment, with all the people, went in procession to im- 
plore Divine mercy, and vowed to build a church in 

238 




RAGUSA 

ONOFRIO'S FAMOUS FOUNTAIN 



A CHRISTIAN LIGHTHOUSE IN A MOSLEM SEA 

honor of the Savior, on which it was decided to 
spend 1,500 ducats." He explains that three nobles 
were appointed as provveditori to handle the 
money and superintend the construction of the votive 
church. But, like some other building committees, 
the provveditori used their high position to further 
their own ends. Noble matrons, however, for the 
good of their souls, in their bare feet, are said to have 
carried materials to the building, while devout men of 
noble lineage worked side by side with the masons. 
Notwithstanding the public enthusiasm, the construc- 
tion of St. Salvatore dragged along slowly, and at an 
ever-increasing outlay. This is easily understood 
when we learn that the officials in charge appro- 
priated the material, and employed the workmen in re- 
building their own private domiciles, injured by the 
earthquake, while the House of the Lord had to wait. 

This story shows that while times change, men 
do not. The same thing happened in Washington, 
not so very long ago, when an official used Uncle 
Sam's time, material, and labor, to build his own 
house — and he didn't have the excuse of an earth- 
quake, either. The earthquake came when he was 
found out. 

A few steps on the Corso from the votive church 
of St. Salvatore, is the Franciscan church and monas- 
tery. The first church of this order was built out- 
side the present fortifications, but was destroyed by 

239 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

the Slavs as early as 13 19. The new Mala Braca 
was built on its present site just within Porta Pile. 
In olden times monks were expected to fight as well 
as pray, and so it was encumbent upon them to pro- 
tect the portal beside their monastery, exactly as their 
Dominican brethren did at their house at the other 
side of the city, where they were the constituted 
guardians of Porta Plocce. Each noble was also ex- 
pected to safeguard with his armed retainers the 
walls of his own domain, forming part of the city's 
fortifications. 

Poor Ragusa, many as were her human enemies, 
she had even worse foes ! She experienced again and 
again visitations from fire and pestilence, and suf- 
fered for centuries a recurrence of fearfully de- 
structive earthquakes. Knowing all the calamities 
she has borne, it is marvelous not only that she re- 
tains so much of her ancient grandeur, but that she 
exists at all. 

The second Franciscan church suffered, from an 
earthquake, the same fate as the first. To-day all 
that remains of the ancient structure is the very 
attractive south portal on the Corso, in the late Ven- 
etian Gothic style. It has a sculptured "Pieta" in 
the central niche above the door, flanked by saints 
on each side, surmounted above by a venerable 
figure which looks as if intended for St. Biagio him- 
self. 

240 



A CHRISTIAN LIGHTHOUSE IN A MOSLEM SEA 

The Franciscans have in their monastery one of 
the most exquisite cloisters I have ever seen. It 
dates from the year 13 17, and has a square court- 
yard with three wonderfully beautiful bays on each 
side opening out of it, with round arches upheld 
by five graceful columns, coupled closely together, 
and having quaint and fantastic Romanesque capitals 
— capitals which the more you study them, the more 
you are charmed by their infinite variety. The 
sculptor seems to have given his fancy full play, his 
designs running the whole gamut from foliage, 
spirals, and rosettes, to all manner of grotesque 
monsters. There are winged dragons, grinning 
heads, masks, and even a litter of young puppies. 
Marvelous as it may seem, considering the light and 
graceful lines of the slender columns, the cloister 
survived the great earthquake of 1667, which de- 
stroyed the church and wrought terrible havoc else- 
were throughout the city. 

It is said that, altho the church and convent were 
seriously damaged, the greatest injury was due to 
an incendiary fire, the work of looting Morlacchi, 
who, in the confusion, swarmed into the wrecked city 
and stole everything they could lay their hands on. 
The friars fled, and for days the flames devoured the 
church and other buildings. The magnificent ceiling 
of the church, decorated with paintings by Titian, 
and adorned with fine carving and gilding, was 

241 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

totally destroyed, together with "a miraculous 
crucifix and the high altar with twenty-six silver 
statues which adorned it." The fire utterly destroyed 
most of the 6,500 volumes in the library. Many 
ancient and valuable manuscripts, beside illuminated 
choral books adorned with gilded miniatures, were 
reduced to ashes. That the cloister escaped is due 
to the heroism of one of the friars — Fra Elia da 
Caneli — who had been left in charge of the build- 
ings, and three times put out fires kindled by the 
marauders. 

Words seem quite inadequate to express the subtle, 
indefinable charm of this cloister garden. While it is 
beautiful, it is not alone beauty which delights the 
eye; some mystic fascination charms you from the 
first, and makes you love it. 

On each side of the narrow, paved walk are long 
marble benches, where the monks sit and sun them- 
selves, or talk together when the day is done. In 
the center rises a fountain with a tall shaft, on 
which, on a large, flat stone, stands the figure of St. 
Francis of Assisi, who himself is said to have 
founded the first Mala Braca, which was built soon 
after he visited Ragusa and founded the order, in 
1220. The backs of the seats form the sides of a 
raised garden, on either side of which, in fragrant 
bloom, are roses of various hues from purest white to 
deepest crimson, while masses of starry jessamine 

242 



A CHRISTIAN LIGHTHOUSE IN A MOSLEM SEA 

run riot amid the tropical profusion of luxuriant 
green foliage. 

While we were there a soft breeze stole through 
the cloister, and the giant palms gently waved their 
long leaves to and fro to the soft rhythm of the 
gurgling fountain. A tall orange tree swayed its 
glossy boughs and rocked its burden of golden fruit 
in unison with the anthem of praise and thanksgiv- 
ing which the monks were chanting in the distant 
choir, which was borne softly to us through the 
shadowed arches in solemn echoes. While here, 
Ragusa, with her sunny Corso, her gay shops, her 
bustling life, is forgotten, and a holy calm and 
divine peace fall like benedictions on the tired spirit. 
The soul is uplifted as the world fades away, while 
you sit entranced on the old marble bench and dream- 
ing of the past, listen to the chanting monks, the water 
in the fountain, and drink in the beauty around. 
You dream of mystic, dark-robed figures who, in 
long vanished years, sat here by the fountain where 
you sit, and whose very names are forgotten. But 
the garden blooms with the same wealth of flowers, 
the fountain sings the same old song, the time- 
stained marble is warmed by the same sun, just as 
in those summer days of long, long ago. Even the 
music the choir is chanting is the same — it is only 
the voices of those ancient choristers that are mute — 
as they long have been. 

243 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

It seems strange to think that it was just here 
that the brave and faithful Fra Elia, almost two 
hundred and fifty years ago, unaided and alone, 
battled with the flames under these very sculptured 
arches we see, and so saved the cloister he loved. A 
little bird comes and perches on the brim of the 
fountain. You watch him as he preens his feathers, 
making a careful toilet to the droning hum of bees 
clustered in the roses behind you. Suddenly the 
bells in the campanile ring out, and the bird flies 
away. You then realize it is time for you, too, to 
go, for the world calls you. But never will you 
forget your mystic day-dreams of the hoary past 
in that lovely old cloister garden of Ragusa. 

And now for a passage from the diary, written in 
the Imperial Hotel: "Have forgotten the date (some 
time in July), but it doesn't matter. Wish I had a 
brand new adjective to devote exclusively to Ragusa — 
incomparable, superlatively lovely Ragusa! The 
truth is, every place in Dalmatia has been so en- 
joyable, I have gone from rapture to rapture; so I 
hardly know how best to express the joy and charm 
of Ragusa. I feel as I do in early spring, when that 
fresh, earthy smell intoxicates me, and everything 
seems to rejoice. The radiant sunshine, the blue sky, 
the yellow dandelions, and the budding boughs all 
shout to me, and I feel so happy that I must shout, 

244 



A CHRISTIAN LIGHTHOUSE IN A MOSLEM SEA 

too! Of course, I do not mean that in July it is 
literally like spring in Ragusa. On the contrary, it 
is h-o-t! and you are always conscious that it is 
July. But everything is so superb, so wonderfully 
medieval and interesting, that I forget it is warm, 
that my feet ache, and that I am tired and hungry. 
Actually, I hate to lose a moment in going back to 
the hotel, even to have a delicious luncheon in a 
little leafy bower. I prefer to stay out and make 
John buy anything he can, in one of these funny 
little cubbyholes they call shops. 

"Ragusa is so — everything! I do not believe the 
most cross-grained, fault-finding globe-trotter could 
resist her. I'd be willing to cross the ocean and 
come all the way down the Adriatic without stopping 
anywhere, to have just another week in Ragusa 
alone ! A visit here is worth the expense of the en- 
tire trip. Even John admits that, and he doesn't have 
'spasms of delight' as I do. While he laughs at my 
enthusiasm, I know he is pleased to have me enjoy 
everything so much. I can read this in his eyes. 
I heard him say once, he'd 'hate to have to travel 
with a kill-joy.' Maybe I am foolish, to go into 
raptures over everything I admire, but I really can 
not help it. It makes me so much the happier, that 
I am glad I can not. 

"Just inside Porta Pile, what should I discover to 
my dismay but a postcard booth, which gave me the 

245 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

horrors, for it seemed so terribly incongruous a 
thing in a medieval tenth-century town. But as the 
booth was there — and I wanted to get some cards — 
I stifled my indignation and bought a set from the 
smiling matron in charge, who was delightfully Dal- 
matian, and nodded so pleasantly that I completely 
forgot to count my change. I must admit I never 
know how to count foreign money, but John does. 
He looked over my change from this purchase, and 
asked me why I had let her cheat me out of thirty 
heller. I was really upset until he told me the 
difference amounted to only six cents. I suppose the 
woman thought American millionaires didn't count 
their change, so she wasn't particular to give me 
every heller due. Everybody here cheats me. 

"John says I am 'easy,' and maybe I am; but think 
what a lot of pleasure I would miss if I were always 
thinking about money! John doesn't let any of these 
people fool him. He has a cute way of making them 
pay up what they owe him, and to the very last cent. 
After they give him his change, he keeps holding 
out his hand. Then they get nervous, and slowly, 
piece by piece, grudgingly add coins until he has 
gotten the right amount. When they refuse to add 
more, and begin to protest and vociferate, then he 
feels sure he has not been cheated. It works every 
time, John says, even when he isn't at all sure what 
the amount due him really is; but of course they 

246 



A CHRISTIAN LIGHTHOUSE IN A MOSLEM SEA 

don't know that! A woman in Venice was so 
furious when she had to pay up, she curst him 
roundly. She declared he 'would cheat the pope,' 
and 'wanted her children to starve,' but all the other 
vendors laughed at her, and enjoyed her discomfiture 
at discovering John to be one of the few millionaires 
who refused to be robbed. 

"The Franciscan cloister is adorable. My feet be- 
came so tired I got John to let me stay there a long 
time to rest, and I enjoyed every moment. It was 
very still and solemn. As I sat thinking of all the 
happiness God has given me, a thought suddenly 
came to me, a thought about that Bela man, and his 
coming to Cattaro. For he is coming this time. 
John has a card that he is there now. I don't know 
why I should have thought of him, when I was so 
happy; but I did. Then I thought of John, and how 
I was deceiving him, deceiving my own adored hus-^ 
band, whose every thought is to make me happy. 
Then I became conscious for the first time of how 
contemptible, and unworthy I am. And right there 
at the feet of the good St. Francis, who looked down 
so calmly upon me, I made up my mind just what 
I would do. I would tell John, before we meet Bela 
in Cattaro! Just as I was trying to think how I 
could tell him, after all. these days, a sudden inspira- 
tion came to me, to take my diary to him, and ask 
him to read it. Then he would know everything. It 

247 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

is humiliating to think I must do it — but I must. And 
I'm sure I will, only I shall wait a little, until I feel 
confident I can do it without crying and making a 
scene. That would spoil everything by making him 
angry. It is going to be hard, but now I am per- 
fectly happy again. I have learned a good lesson. 
I will never, never, conceal anything from my dear, 
good husband again. And way down in my heart I 
realize, now, that I was vain, and did act flirtily — 
or that man never would have dared to write me. 
I mean to look right up into John's eyes and confess 
everything." 



248 



XIII 

RAGUSA: THE SPONZA, ORLANDO'S COLUMN, 
AND CABOGA 

Before leaving the Franciscan convent, at least 
a glimpse should be had of the sacristy, for in it is 
an ancient wash-basin, known as a "lavabo," and 
well worth seeing. The upper cornice is supported 
by two grooved half-columns with fine Corinthian 
capitals. On a broad, sculptured band running 
across the lavabo, above the basin proper, are three 
fat-faced cherubs, with outspread wings, winning 
smiles, and fluted nimbi — and that is all. Between 
each two cherub heads is a conventional little vase 
bearing a bouquet of flowers. Below the central 
cherub is an oblong stone bracket, on which is carved 
a grotesque face, having neither wings, smile, nor 
nimbus; but it has carved locks, carefully crimped 
and parted in the middle, while under the eyes are 
beds of wrinkles. From its pursed up lips a little 
stream of water flows into an ample basin supported 
by two stone brackets. High in the air, above the 
lavabo, on each side, are ordinary wooden towel- 
racks, from which dangle long, coarse linen towels 
for the convenience of the monks at their ablutions. 

249 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

I confess, freely, that the towels and the metal hooks 
set in the wall above the basin, upon which were 
hung a metal bucket and a tin dipper with a long 
handle, decidedly detracted from the artistic effect 
of the lovely lavabo, with its delightfully quaint 
carving, and its appropriate inscription, "Lavamini 
mundi estote," which John says means "Wash and 
be clean." 

The Franciscans have another cloister further up 
the hill, long and narrow, and not so handsome as 
the other, but much more famous. Here in the 
garden, monks in ancient days grew the herbs and 
simples for a pharmacy that is one of the oldest in 
Europe. Friars still keep drugs in some of the 
ancient receptacles, and will show you queer old 
jugs and jars, but nothing will tempt them to part 
with any of their priceless treasures. The cloister 
garden has the quaintest of old wells under a little 
slanting roof, called a "pent house." The roof is of 
red tiles, the upper end resting against the wall, the 
lower supported on stone columns. Above it, on a 
marble slab set into the wall, is a delightful and most 
venerable sun-dial, having a painted border of faded 
arabesques, the hours being shown by long lines 
carved on the stone. At the top, beneath the scrolls, 
juts out a long, rusty iron rod, intended to indicate 
the time by casting its shadow on the dial. But as 
the roof of the two-story building projects above it, 

250 



THE SPONZA, ORLANDO'S COLUMN, AND CABOGA 

and a tall tree stands beside it, I imagine the dial is 
more picturesque than serviceable. 

A steep flight of steps behind the cloister leads up 
the mountain. On the very summit is a splendid old 
bastion, known as Torre Menza, or the Mincetta 
Tower, not only the highest but the most magnificent 
of all Ragusa's massive fortifications, and, best of 
all, it was built by our Giorgio of Sebenico. He was 
employed in 1464, while patiently waiting for his 
Sebenico brethren to raise sufficient money for him 
to finish his famous cathedral. 

On coming from the solemn shadows of the church 
into the sunny Corso, with its chattering crowds and 
gay colors, the street seemed all the brighter 
by comparison. Ragusa's streets are full of life and 
color. Dalmatians of all types and every style of 
costume are met everywhere, but in the Corso and 
Piazza are gathered the gayest crowds. Here you 
will come face to face with Canalesi women in 
stiffly starched white coifs, laboriously plaited, and 
see Herzegovinian maidens who look like brides, 
with their tiny red caps adorned with a flowing white 
kerchief, edged with lace or fringe, hanging down 
their broad backs like wedding veils. Many Ragusa 
women forcibly remind you of Rome. They are of 
the swarthy, Italian type. Their resemblance to the 
women of the Campagna is accentuated by bright 
kerchiefs similar to those seen in many Italian cities. 

251 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

The majority of the males wear the huge and 
hideously full, blue Dalmatian trousers, which have 
a habit of sagging most alarmingly. These trousers 
always seem in imminent danger of parting com- 
pany with the upper garments completely, notwith- 
standing that above the sash worn around the waist 
is usually worn a broad leather belt. This belt forms 
a cummerbund sort of pouch, in which the Ragusan 
carries his arsenal of knives and pistols — the latter 
of the blunderbuss variety. 

During a short stay, it is almost impossible to 
learn to distinguish people by their styles of dress. 
The variety seen in headgear alone, is quite bewilder- 
ing. There are tall green hats trimmed with strips 
of black astrachan, and tiny red caps without a 
brim, gorgeous Bosnian turbans, the green turban of 
the Moslem who has been to Mecca, Albanians in 
near-white fezes, Herzegovinians in "pork-pie" 
berettas, Austrian officers in stiff military caps, and 
subjects of the Sultan in scarlet, or bright red fezes, 
having long, dangling, silk tassels. In addition to 
all this Oriental variety, will be seen a generous 
sprinkling of the heterogeneous collection of head- 
coverings usually encountered in a five-minutes' walk 
down Broadway. 

At what are known as "Oriental Emporiums," the 
greater portion of the wares, I believe, are banked 
up outside the shops. Some of the very finest Per- 

252 



THE SPONZA, ORLANDO'S COLUMN, AND CABOGA 

sian and Turkish rugs and draperies we saw were 
displayed on the outer wall of a shop near Onofrio's 
big fountain. The cost of each article for sale in 
the Corso fluctuates with the appearance of the 
prospective purchaser, growing greater or less in 
exact proportion to the amount of affluence he seems 
to have, and the interest shown in the article to be 
purchased. John very wisely always leaves me some- 
where else whenever he wants to buy anything. He 
declares that I ruin a bargain, even if I don't say a 
word, just by the way I look. 

In a tailor's shop we saw a number of Albanians 
sewing. They sat doubled up on a queer little plat- 
form like a shelf, with their feet under them, Turk- 
ish fashion, stitching away on gorgeous jackets and 
caps. All were men, and it seemed odd to see them 
sewing silver and gold braid, putting on little glitter- 
ing spangles, and working patterns in tinsel thread. 
We priced some of the finished caps which hung on 
the walls of the shop, but they asked us four dollars. 
John never smiled when he explained, in his best 
Italian, that he must have been misunderstood. He 
wanted one cap — not half a dozen. 

I was delighted to discover a fine, big photograph 
and picture store on the Corso, and wished to buy a 
number of views, for fear some of our own might 
not turn out well. But the man in charge was list- 
less, and apparently too tired to show us his stock. 

253 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

He didn't utter a word. Contenting himself with 
simply pointing to a lot of fly-specked, sun- faded post- 
cards, he went on picking his teeth. 

The jewelry shops are the most attractive of all, 
with their varied assortments of filigree ornaments, 
ranging from rings and earrings to huge belt buckles 
ten inches across. Chains and hair ornaments of 
many kinds are seen, and hairpins adorned with gilt 
chains and hanging balls in silver-gilt. Here, in fact, 
is seen all the jewelry with which Dalmatian women 
delight to bedeck themselves. Any number of barbaric- 
looking ornaments can be purchased. Chains of coins, 
rings, and the metal gewgaws of the people, pass 
from generation to generation; they represent the 
wearer's "dot," and she displays them with conscious 
pride. She aims not only to make herself attractive 
by a brave show of finery, but hopes her "dot" will 
catch the eye of some unmarried swain, and secure 
his serious attention. 

In a queer, flat glass case hung on the outer wall of 
a shop in the Corso, I caught sight of a number of 
the dangling filigree buttons which men wear strung 
over the fronts of their sleeveless jackets. I made John 
go in and price them. I'm afraid I did forget, and 
so, maybe, I looked too eager ; for when the man came 
out with a key he unlocked the case and put the 
buttons right in my hand, before he had even men- 
tioned the price. After critically inspecting me from 

254 



THE SPONZA, ORLANDO'S COLUMN, AND CABOGA 

tip to toe, and then inspecting John, and having 
properly "sized us up," the man laconically declared: 
"Vier kronen, jedes!" "Four kronen, each?" ex- 
claimed John in astonishment, for that statement 
meant eighty cents apiece for the buttons. "Ya, 
jedes," answered the man. Taking the buttons, John 
handed them back, and, without wasting a word, we 
turned and left him, speechless with astonishment. 
He hadn't dreamed that we knew what the buttons 
were worth, from having priced some exactly similar 
over in Spalato. As we passed a couple of sailors 
who had been interested spectators, we heard one 
of them say: "Not fool Engleesch! Mer-ikar 
Yankee — all right! Me been in New York." He 
nodded to us and smiled knowingly. We smiled, too. 
Travelers intending to pay a visit to Constanti- 
nople can not do better than go by way of Dalmatia. 
It affords an excellent school in which to learn the 
art of Oriental bartering. John declared after his 
weeks of experience in "dickering" for everything 
he bought, that he could now hold his own with the 
most wily of Ragusa's shopkeepers. The joke is that, 
instead of getting provoked or discourteous when he 
begins to bargain with them, they all beam upon him 
most approvingly. "The reesch Engleesch," who 
pay without question the ridiculous prices demanded 
of foreigners for everything, to them is simply an 
egregious fool. A customer who is an "easy mark" 

255 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

(no matter what the amount of his purchase) is, in 
the eyes of a Dalmatian merchant — exactly as in the 
opinion of the Turk — an imbecile, unworthy of con- 
sideration; and one for whom they have only con- 
tempt. 

No matter how gay and chattering a Ragusan may 
be, if one only mentions the word "earthquake," in- 
stantly the face grows solemn and the person loses 
not a moment in crossing himself. All over the city 
you still see on walls of buildings and over door- 
ways the sacred cipher, "I. H. S.," and often with 
a little cross on the middle letter. These significant 
inscriptions mostly date from the earthquake of 
1520, at which time the inhabitants had them placed 
on public buildings and homes as "a pious invocation 
and plea for Divine protection." It is said that for 
twenty months after the quake, earth-tremors were 
felt; so no wonder the poor people became almost 
panic stricken, and sought by prayers, votive offer- 
ings, and the sacred monogram, to appease, as they 
believed, the wrath of an offended Deity. 

One of the most attractive and striking buildings 
in Ragusa is the Dogana, or Sponza, as the custom- 
house here is more commonly called. It is one of the 
buildings that have survived the earthquake of 1667; 
and it has not only a lovely loggia on the front facing 
the Piazza, but has a fine, large inner court, with a 
double arcade, which is most effective. On an end 

256 



THE SPONZA, ORLANDO'S COLUMN, AND CABOGA 

wall is the cipher, "I. H. S.," in the center of a 
garland supported by two serious-looking angels, with 
a long Latin inscription in letters of lead let into the 
stone, which we couldn't read, but it gives the date 
"MDXX." 

The custom-house occupies the ground floor. The 
public scales for weighing all merchandise hang in 
the central arch, just opposite the entrance. Above, 
in time-worn old letters, can still be seen in Latin 
the words: "We do the weighing, but God holds the 
scales," and other mottoes. In ancient times the first 
floor was used for balls and public meetings. Here 
the literati of Ragusa used to meet to study Italian 
literature; while on the second floor was located the 
Government mint. 

The Sponza is said to be of several different dates, 
the earliest mention of it occurring in one of the 
ancient documents, which gives the amount appro- 
priated for its completion, in 13 12. It stands at the 
angle formed by the Corso and Piazza. An un- 
obstructed view can be had from it of both, by look- 
ing in different directions through the arches of its 
fine loggia. The fagade is particularly attractive. 
Over the arched portico are two ogee-headed win- 
dows, with pretty tracery, on each side of one of the 
most attractive "trinity windows" in Ragusa. The 
three lights have splendid old quarterfoils, and need 
only a carved stone balcony to make them most 

257 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

typically Venetian. The resemblance of this facade 
to that of the Ca' d'Oro, on the Grand Canal, is ac- 
centuated by a row of upright ornaments finishing off 
the edge of the roof. In the top story, exactly above 
the "three windows in one," is a niche in which 
stands St. Biagio, with hand raised in blessing. Of 
all the saints in the Dalmatian calendar, certainly 
none is more devoutly revered, and none so in- 
variably represented as looking down kindly and be- 
nevolently on his people, with a cordial smile of 
welcome for the stranger within his gates. 

In front of the church of St. Biagio, and facing 
the Sponza, in the center of the Piazza, is Orlando's 
column, one of the city's most famous landmarks. 
On a pedestal formed by three stone steps, rises a 
square shaft, with a shallow niche cut in the face, 
that fronts the custom-house, in which is a knight 
in full armor. He stands on what looks ex- 
actly like a Turkish tabouret. In the right hand 
is an uplifted sword, while covering his left is an 
elaborately chased, long, pointed shield. The top 
of the square shaft is finished with a small railing. 
Here the town-crier stood in days of old, and blew 
his trumpet to call people into the Piazza to hear him 
read the decrees of law-making nobles. Close by this 
column of Orlando, in the presence of the multitude, 
criminals found guilty of capital offenses were 
executed. 

258 




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THE SPONZA, ORLANDO'S COLUMN, AND CABOGA 

By the name given to this column, Ragusa hon- 
ored her legendary hero, the Paladin Orlando, who 
is said to have saved the city from the Saracens. It 
is similar to the "Rolandsbild" of old German towns. 
The armed knight signifies imperial authority. There 
are many such figures in Berne, and one, I remember, 
stands before the Rathhaus in Bremen. Orlando's 
column not only typifies Ragusa's freedom of juris- 
diction and commerce, but serves as a support for 
the great staff on which floated the banner of the 
republic. In the year 1825, a hurricane overturned 
the column, and at that time a plate having an ancient 
inscription was discovered, which supplied some 
valuable data. It tells in Latin that the "stone and 
standard" were erected in 1418, during the pontificate 
of "Papa Martino V. * * * To the honor of God 
and of St. Biagio, our official gonfalon." For half a 
century the knight and his column lay dishonored 
and neglected, stored away in the Rector's Palace. 
Fortunately, in 1878, Orlando was duly restored to 
his original position in the Piazza, where the old 
column and its quaint figure once more delight the 
eye. It may be true that "it has but little artistic 
merit," as some authorities declare, but much can be 
forgiven Orlando. If his nose is now a little 
"snubby," and his ancient sword and shield some- 
what battered with the wear and tear of time, the 
doughty little warrior well withstood the vicissitudes 

259 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

through which he and his fame have passed. He 
has known peace and war, plenty and famine; has 
proudly kept his long and patient vigil, through fire 
and smoke, storm and hurricane, pestilence and 
earthquake, for four hundred and ninety-five long 
years. 

And now for a passage from the diary: "We are 
just back from sightseeing for the whole morning. 
There is so much to see in Ragusa. Everything has 
a story. It grows more and more interesting every 
minute. Stories of her ancient heroes in the palmy 
days of the republic, when everybody wanted to annex 
her, are charming. When you stand on the spot where 
the great deeds were done, they become realistic. I 
can almost imagine I see warriors bold, with plumes 
waving above their helmets, strutting before me 
across the Piazza, on their way to the Rector's Palace. 
After the earthquake of 1520, there followed another 
terrible calamity; people had hardly recovered their 
nerves, shattered as they had been by twenty months 
of recurring 'earth-tremors,' than the city was 
ravaged by a plague which swept over Europe. 

"No wonder that in their terrible fright they gave 
votive offerings, and made solemn vows. They 
firmly believed God was angry with them, or He 
would not have sent them so many afflictions. When 
they understood that a merchant was really the cause 

260 



THE SPONZA, ORLANDO'S COLUMN, AND CABOGA 

of the 'black death,' through criminal carelessness — he 
having brought the plague into the city with goods 
from Ancona — they fell upon him while he was being 
taken to prison, and in their terrible fury, literally 
tore him limb from limb. Notwithstanding their 
vows and prayers and petitions for mercy, twenty 
thousand souls died in Ragusa of the scourge in six 
months. 

"Poor Ragusa has had more than her share of 
calamities. It must be admitted that her woes add 
greatly to the pathetic charm of her story. In the 
seventeenth century came the worst of all her afflic- 
tions, another earthquake, which in a few moments 
almost demolished the city. The historian, Gelcich, 
says : 'On a calm and peaceful April morning, in the 
year 1667, from below the ground came a terrible 
earthquake.' Superstitious people may think it hap- 
pened on Friday, but they would be wrong. It was a 
Wednesday, April 6, 1667. Pious folks were all at 
early mass, and other people just getting up when it oc- 
curred, without previous warning. In a few seconds 
the city was devastated, becoming a mass of ruins. 
Churches, dwellings, the Rector's Palace, and build- 
ings of every kind went crumbling to pieces. The 
rector himself, and thousands of his people, were 
instantly killed. The awful havoc was intensified 
by great rocks, which, loosened by the quake, came 
rolling down the mountain and crashed into the city. 

261 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

At the same time, a fierce wind sprang up, and many 
fires soon raged among the ruins. 

"It must have been a terrible sight to see the 
bruised and bleeding handful of survivors, half- 
crazed by despair, wandering through the stricken 
city, weeping and wailing, and 'imploring pity and 
pardon of God for their sins.' The castle-rock was 
seen to burst open twice and close again. Great 
tidal waves arose as the sea receded from the shore, 
and then swept back, again and again. The land 
fort withstood the shock, but the sea fort, the 
Dogana, the churches, the palace, and most of the 
other buildings, were badly injured, if not totally des- 
troyed. It is said that for four and five days after* 
the catastrophe, faint cries were heard coming from 
the ruins. Some of the victims were rescued alive, 
having been pinned down under heavy masonry for 
days without a particle of food or a drop of water. 

"A large part of the treasures of the cathedral 
was stolen by looting Morlacchi who swarmed into 
the city. That anything was saved is due to the 
bravery of a few nobles who, with a handful of 
armed retainers, fought back the scoundrels and ulti- 
mately put them to flight. Then, what were left of 
the vestments and sacred vessels, were deposited in 
a chapel that still stood intact, in the ruined Domin- 
ican monastery, and was then bricked up. 'Only a 
barred window was left open, so that the people 

262 



THE SPONZA, ORLANDO'S COLUMN, AND CABOGA 

might assure themselves of their existence, and wor- 
ship them,' as an old account quaintly relates. 

"Best of all stories, now comes the 'truly, really 
story' of a noble Ragusan named Caboga. I have 
seen his portrait, and he looks like pictures of Chris- 
topher Columbus. He is shown wearing a full beard 
and having curling locks, which hang down over his 
collar. He has a Roman nose, his eyes are brown 
and far apart, with a keen look in them, but his 
bearded lips have a smile and his whole expression 
is most amiable. 

"To my mind he looks every inch the noble-born 
hero that he really was. It seems that Count Marino 
Caboga was born in Ragusa in the year 1630. A very 
fast young blade in his youth — when at the age of 
twenty-five, he got into a lawsuit with one of his 
relatives — he had acquired a far from savory reputa- 
tion. Caboga accused his kinsman of cheating him 
out of money. The case was tried before the senate. 
In the presence of that august body the defendant 
openly taunted Caboga with his notorious dissipa- 
tions, and put him in the Ananias Club. He not 
only cast aspersions on Caboga's manner of living, 
but freely exprest doubts as to his honor. Stung to 
fury by the taunt, the enraged young man drew 
his sword and killed his slanderer on the spot. 
After the murder, in the confusion which ensued, 
Caboga fled to a church, where he found sanctuary, 

263 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

and so escaped capital punishment. But he was 
tried and sentenced to imprisonment for life, and 
for twelve long years endured solitary confinement, 
his only solace being his Latin Bible, which he 
studied constantly. He occupied his days covering 
the walls of his cell with verses showing his sincere 
repentance for his hasty but wicked act. 

"Then came the earthquake. The prison was de- 
molished, so that Caboga found himself suddenly set 
at liberty. Instead of making all haste to escape, 
without a moment's delay he began, heroically, to res- 
cue the unfortunates buried in the ruins; and boldly 
defied the swarms of looters who were endeavoring to 
steal everything of value in the church treasuries. 
Battling against great odds, Caboga, with a handful 
of armed assistants, drove the freebooters out of 
the city. 

"When some sort of order was established, and 
all of the senate who survived came together, 
Caboga presented himself before them, as was his 
right, being a noble-born male over eighteen years. 
Immediately one of the council sprang up and de- 
clared that Caboga was incapable of sitting with 
them, having been disgraced as a murderer, sentenced 
to imprisonment for life. The majority, after a 
heated controversy, decided that his heroic efforts 
had wiped away the stain, and in view of his services 
to his stricken city in a time of such appalling dan- 

264 



THE SPONZA, ORLANDO'S COLUMN, AND CABOGA 

ger, he should be forgiven. He was then immediately 
restored to his former rank and privileges. All were 
the more willing to do this, as so many of the nobles 
had been killed, the survivors were at their wits ends 
to know how they should rehabilitate the Government. 

"In September, 1669, after one of the most re- 
markable sieges the world has ever known — a siege 
lasting twenty-five years — Venetians occupying the 
garrison at Candia, on the island of Crete, were 
forced to surrender to the Turks. Obtaining pos- 
session of Candia, the Sultan's Grand Vizier, a 
bloodthirsty Moslem named Kara Mustafa, with a 
fanatical hatred for Christians, determined further 
to show his power by destroying Ragusa. He made 
a claim that forcible resistance had been used against 
the band of marauders who swarmed into the city to 
plunder it. He declared, further, that the Ragusans 
had sold goods to the Turkish army at exorbitant 
prices during the recent war. As a punishment, 
Mustafa coolly demanded, in addition to the yearly 
tribute paid to the Sultan, the sum of 146,000 ducats, 
threatening, if his absurd demands were not im- 
mediately complied with, to annex the republic. The 
poor Ragusans, in despair, begged the Turkish con- 
queror to remember they had but recently suffered 
from a terrible earthquake, and had no money with 
which to pay the amount demanded. 

"Finding they could do nothing with the Grand 
265 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

Vizier, the senate decided, after the usual Ragusan 
method in diplomacy, to send without delay am- 
bassadors to Constantinople. No one, however, 
could be found to 'take chances' in such a dangerous 
mission. The fate of unpopular ambassadors, when 
once in the Sultan's clutches, was only too well 
known. Caboga then fearlessly came to the front 
and declared himself ready to make the hazardous 
journey to try to save the city. With a com- 
panion as brave as he was, Caboga presented him- 
self in Constantinople. When he saw that the 
Ragusans were skilful as diplomatists, Kara Mustafa 
had them confined in a foul dungeon, and let them 
know their cell was in a lazarretto that had been used 
for victims of the plague. 

"Of all things in the world, Ragusans then, as to 
this day, are most afraid of earthquakes, and after 
earthquakes, of 'the black death'; but, altho Caboga 
was' not above human fears, he courageously re- 
mained firm. He and his companion were changed 
from dungeon to dungeon, and their days in dark 
and filthy cells made hideous by threats of horrible 
torture awaiting them if they failed to yield. At 
last, an emissary of the Grand Vizier visited Caboga, 
who had then been long in solitary confinement, and 
tried to persuade him to advise the republic to make 
no further resistance to Turkish demands for an- 
nexation. Caboga, in his clanking chains, staggered 

266 



THE SPONZA, ORLANDO'S COLUMN, AND CABOGA 

to his feet, and lifting his manacled hand, pointed a 
finger at his tempter, and said: 'Tell thy master, 
knave, that I was sent here to serve my country — 
not to betray her!' At the same time, by bribing a 
prison attendant, Caboga sent word to Ragusa to 
remain firm, notwithstanding the fate which he knew 
he faced, piously begging that his children might re- 
ceive a religious education as wards of the republic, 
if he should never return. 

"The Vizier grew weary of Caboga's obstinacy, 
and on learning that Ragusa had sought aid from the 
King of Naples, and secured from the Genoese not 
only arms and troops, but a war loan, Mustafa vowed 
vengeance. He determined to seize the pugnacious 
little republic the moment he had subdued Vienna, 
to which he had already laid siege. Fate now took 
a hand in the game, upsetting all the plans of the 
Turks. With the crushing defeat of Kara at the 
hands of King John Sobieski of Poland, the Otto- 
man throne was shaken to its very foundation. Kara 
lost not only Vienna, but his own head in conse- 
quence, a loss which was Ragusa's gain. Caboga 
and his compatriot, released at once, were permitted 
to return home. An old account in the city archives 
tells most graphically the story of what occurred 
when the approach of the hero was heralded in the 
city: 

" 'Every knoll, villa, and housetop was covered 
267 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

with an admiring, almost adoring people; every bell 
in Ragusa rang out a merry peal, and the rector 
and the senate, in full robes, went out of the city 
to give a cordial welcome to the wonderful Marino 
Caboga.' 

"It is the city of Caboga's day that remains to us 
after all the intervening years. In my mind's eye I 
can picture that eventful day, when the patriot re- 
turned to his 'almost adoring people.' I can see the 
great gonfalon floating from its staff above the 
Knight Orlando in the Piazza, its silken folds bearing 
the image of St. Biagio, their beloved patron. I can 
see banners waving from every window of the 
Sponza, and can hear the silver chimes of church 
bells mingling with the clanging of the big bell in 
the clock-tower, as the old bronze figure with its 
hammer strikes resounding blows upon it. Shops, 
too, are gaily decorated with bunting, and gorgeous 
rugs, woven in the Orient, hang from casements, and 
are spread upon the very stones of the Corso, where 
the hero's feet will tread. Radiant faces look down 
from crowded housetops, streets are filled with joy- 
ous crowds, and from windows children toss fragrant 
flowers on the heads of the throng below. The air 
is redolent with the perfume of many roses, and 
every portal is graced with a garland of green or 
nosegays of fresh blossoms. Suddenly the blast of 
trumpets is heard, followed by the music of fifes 

268 



THE SPONZA, ORLANDO'S COLUMN, AND CABOGA 

and clanging cymbals. A hush of expectancy falls 
upon the crowd. The great rector and his coun- 
cilors are leaving the palace to go in state to meet 
the heroic patriot. 

"The music becomes louder. Soon I see the 
ecclesiastics who head the procession, walk in solemn 
majesty, preceded by a chanting choir waving ban- 
ners and swinging censers. The sunlight glints on 
the sacred silver statue of St. Biagio, which is carried 
reverently before them, and on their own gorgeous 
vestments. Then come the trumpeters, the municipal 
band, and a standard bearer carrying a great staff 
from which floats the gonfalon of the republic. I 
see the great company of nobles, red-clad attendants, 
secretaries, and chamberlains, who walk two by two 
before the rector, who comes in brilliant red silk 
robes of state with a dignified mien befitting his high 
office. He walks alone. Behind him follows an 
attendant who carefully holds above his august head 
a brilliant red silk umbrella. After the nobles, at a 
respectful distance, comes a woman, fair to look 
upon, who leads two children by the hand, little 
girls in white dresses bright with ribbons; and two 
stalwart young sons walk behind her. At the sight of 
this little company the crowds rend the air with 
their joyous shouts : 'Caboga ! Caboga ! Caboga !' 
For this is the family of the great hero, which 
Ragusa this day so signally honors. Next occurs 

269 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

a long gap, to suggest the gulf that separates the 
noble-born from the plain people, the former a 
smiling company of proud citizens, drest in their 
very best. Bringing up the rear — again with a re- 
spectful gap between themselves and the more hon- 
orable citizens — comes a long line of humble workers, 
tradesmen, artizans, laborers, and sailors, and last of 
all, at the very tail-end of the procession, follow the 
country men, mere serfs in that day, attached to 
their lord's domain, spoken of by him as 'things,' 
and treated simply as 'chattels.' But they march 
gaily in their 'festa' finery, their glowing faces 
unclouded by any realization of their low estate. 

"How plainly I can see it all! That gorgeous 
company, gathered below on the old marina in the 
ancient harbor to welcome Caboga home. I can 
almost hear the trumpets blare, and the sound of 
the martial music. The din from the chiming bells 
is deafening, and so are the joyous shouts from the 
assembled multitude when the hero steps on the 
shore! I can see him, as he bends the knee and 
bows low, to receive the canon's blessing; and his 
proud bearing when the rector bestows upon him a 
stately embrace. Best of all, I can see manly youths 
salute him, and his little daughters in their fluttering 
ribbons rush forward joyously to receive him. Then, 
Caboga takes tenderly within his arms that gentle, 
white-robed figure, whose fast-falling tears tell of 

270 



THE SPONZA, ORLANDO'S COLUMN, AND CABOGA 

suffering, of weary, weary waiting, and a loving 
woman's patient heroism — a heroism greater than 
his own. Oh! I love to picture the tall, bearded hero 
entering the city with his strong arm thrown round 
the slender figure at his side. And how good old 
St. Biagio must have beamed down upon them, that 
day, from the wreaths of laurel and festoons of 
flowers which adorned his niche, in honor of Ra- 
gusa's patriot son, Marino Caboga! 

"What a lot of nonsense I do write in my diary! 
As John says, when I get to dreaming, I let my 
imagination run away with me. The truth is that 
medieval Ragusa has bewitched me. She has a 
subtle, indefinable charm which I find irresistible. 
She appeals to every particle of mysticism and ro- 
mance in my nature." 



271 



XIV 

RAGUSA: ST. BIAGIO, THE DOMINICAN CHURCH 
AND CONVENT, AND THE DUOMO 

Everybody makes mistakes — even Baedeker! I 
couldn't understand at first about the church of St. 
Biagio, for Baedeker states that "opposite the palace 
is the church of S. Biagio." As a matter of fact, 
the palace is at one end of the Piazza, and the site 
of the rebuilt votive church exactly at the other. 
Evidently the situation of the patron's church was 
confused with the position of the duomo. 

The first edifice was decreed during the plague of 
the fourteenth century, but it was burned down 
three centuries later, after having resisted the earth- 
quake which demolished so many other buildings. 
The new St. Biagio (not now so very new) was 
built in 1 71 5, but it does not compare in interest 
with other places in Ragusa. The only thing in it 
I really enjoyed was the famous little silver statue, 
which was saved from the fire, and now is protected, 
under glass, in a niche over the high altar. It repre- 
sents St. Biagio himself, and while not more than 
two feet high, is declared to have "much artistic 
merit." It is held in great reverence by all Ragusans, 

272 



ST. BIAGIO, AND THE DOMINICAN CHURCH 

and is of priceless value to antiquarians because the 
saint holds a charming little model of the ancient 
city, exactly as it was, two hundred years before the 
great earthquake! The old harbor is seen closed by 
a chain. The clock-tower, Sponza, Dominican and 
Franciscan monasteries, even Onofrio's larger foun- 
tain, are shown in exactly their present places. From 
Orlando's column floats an immense banner, and 
high up on the heights is seen the great Torre Menze 
crowning the fortifications — the splendid bastion 
built by Giorgio Orsini. The little model is com- 
plete in every detail, and proves how greatly the 
city of to-day resembles the Ragusa of the Middle 
Ages. 

It is a pity that the back of the statue is of wood, 
but the front is so beautifully chased it makes up 
for omissions. St. Biagio's long chasuble has an 
embroidered cross showing not only a figure of the 
Savior, but several of the apostles, with a large 
central ornament, looking like a Dalmatian woman's 
huge belt buckle, partially covered by the saint's long 
beard. 

From St. Biagio's church we went to the church 
of the Dominicans, which, like the Franciscan church 
at the other end of the town, is supposed to have 
been personally founded by their patron himself, St. 
Dominic. The church is long, straight, and rather 
unattractive. Above little side altars are paintings 

273 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

said to be by Nicolaus, generally known as Nicolaus 
Raguseus, as Giorgio was called, not Giorgio Orsini, 
but George of Sebenico. The pictures have been 
restored, and are still most decorative, with panels 
filled with figures having gold nimbi and garments 
in patterns of gold. The picture in the left recess, 
which is particularly ornate, represents the Virgin 
with the Child seated on a crescent moon, with a 
number of little cherubs about them. On her right, 
Nicolaus shows St. Biagio with his model of the city, 
and St. Paul; on her left St. Thomas Aquinas, hold- 
ing a little church, and St. Augustus standing be- 
side him. Gold is not only used on the draperies, 
but for the entire background. I can not pretend 
that we were able to recognize all the saints depicted 
by Nicolaus; we were assisted by a kind friar. Un- 
fortunately we understood very little beside the 
names of the saints, for his English had such a 
Croatian twang it was almost unrecognizable. 

There is a picture "ascribed to Titian" on the 
north wall, but it is badly restored, and there is some 
doubt as to its being the work of that master. It 
contains a number of figures. Mary Magdalene, with 
clasped hands, occupies the center of the group, 
robed in white, and with streaming locks. St. Biagio 
stands at her right. He is shown wearing a 
gorgeous crimson velvet gown, and holding, not 
only his "model town," but his pastoral crook. Oppo- 

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ST. BIAGIO, AND THE DOMINICAN CHURCH 

site him, to Mary's left, is a group representing the 
family of the donor, a pious gentleman named Pozza, 
painted kneeling beside his little child, over whom 
bends gracefully a young and attractive angel with 
pretty wings and a blue dress. 

Hanging over the choir in the Dominican church 
is a great wooden Byzantine crucifix, another votive 
offering of the "black death" year, 1348. The figure 
of the Savior is horrible, His head hanging down, 
with dark hair, glaring white drapery, and lead- 
colored flesh, all as crude in coloring as a cheap 
chromo. Connoisseurs tell us "the figure is well 
modeled," but I only know I didn't like it, and 
couldn't bear to look at it. To me the crucifix 
was utterly inartistic and repellent. My opinion is, 
however, valueless, except as an honest expression of 
individual taste. Possibly the reason I enjoy every- 
thing so much is because I have only a smattering 
of knowledge. Knowing so little about the technical 
requirements of art, I am not critical, like learned 
folk who so often spoil things for us by knowing 
too much. 

Professor Eitelberger says of the Dominican 
cloister, which is only a little less captivating than 
that of the Franciscans at the other gate, that "in 
style it is a curious mixture of Gothic and Renais- 
sance which could occur only in a land which, being 
on the borders of Eastern and Western culture, did 

275 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

not possess the power to create and execute the 
various styles correctly." No matter how far from 
perfection in architectural minutiae the cloister may 
be, it is lovely to the eye of the uninitiated, who do 
not trouble themselves about technicalities. Even 
Jackson, the unquestioned authority, admits frankly 
that, altho the Dalmatian artist "failed to grasp the 
idea of receding orders in the arch, or consistent 
moldings in his tracery, he succeeded in evolving out 
of his inner consciousness a charming cloister, shock- 
ing to the northern purist, but perhaps on that ac- 
count more interesting to those who love to see the 
workman reflected in his work." 

In the bright summer morning the cloister gar- 
den formed a delightful retreat. In the paved 
central space is a beautiful Venetian pozzo, having 
two tall white marble columns gracefully support- 
ing a horizontal molding, with a sculptured finial, 
at the top of which is a little metal cross. The 
old well bears the date 1623, and its artistic charm 
is enhanced by the yellow tint of the time-mellowed 
convent walls, the shadowed arches of the old 
cloister, and the blossoming flowers and shrubs which 
surround it. 

At an upper window, in the corner of the convent 
wall, just below the tall campanile, is a lovely stone 
balcony, on which we caught sight of two young 
friars in their white robes, diligently reading. A 

276 



ST. BIAGIO, AND THE DOMINICAN CHURCH 

third Dominican, a corpulent, jolly-looking old monk, 
stood looking down at us with smiling interest as we 
wandered about in the quiet garden. 

The duomo occupies one end of the Piazza and is 
built across it, so that it forms a complete end to 
the vista as you stand under the loggia of the Sponza 
and look down the quaint thoroughfare with St. 
Biagio to the right, and the clock-tower, the Corpo 
da Garda, and the Rector's Palace to the left. In look- 
ing the other way, a splendid picture is obtained from 
the steps of the duomo, of the entire length of/ the 
Piazza, with the palace in the foreground to/ the 
right, and with the custom-house and clock-tower at 
the other end. Behind the Sponza rises the great 
bare mountain which is climbed by Ragusa's massive 
fortifications, in zigzag of walls and towers, to its 
gray, gaunt summit, which almost appears to hang 
over the city. Once the slopes were well wooded, but 
to-day, like the greater part of Dalmatia, the moun- 
tain is bare. Its vanished forests, which once sup- 
plied the wood for the houses that became fuel for the 
flames, now linger only in the Illyric name for Ra- 
gusa, "Dubrovnik," which means, "the woody." 

The present cathedral was rebuilt after the great 
earthquake. It is necessary to specify which earth- 
quake, for the city has the unenviable reputation of 
having indulged in a greater or less seismic disturb- 
ance about once in every twenty years, altho it is so 

277 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

massively built that it is difficult to realize it. Earth 
tremors have always been most strongly felt along 
the Corso, which was originally an arm of the sea, 
and cut the city in two. The narrow streets on either 
side have steep flights of steps that remind you of 
Naples. They still retain many fine dwellings in the 
Venetian style of architecture, which escaped the 
quakes that vented their fury along the Corso, or 
Stradone, as many Ragusans call it. Everything in 
the city seems to have at least two names. Many 
places are designated by such a variety of appella- 
tions that names become confusing. Even St. Biagio 
is called St. Blaize half the time. At the hotel I heard 
some one say he is known in English as St. Giles. 

The duomo originally had mosaic floors and mag- 
nificent window glass, but it is principally noted now 
for its rich treasury, and a few paintings. One of 
the most curious relics is an ancient triptych, a little 
portable altar, with three painted scenes. The cen- 
tral portion shows the Virgin seated, with the Child 
kneeling on her lap. He holds out His hand to one 
of the three kings who has laid a scepter and gifts 
before Him. On the doors, or wings, are other 
figures. The panel to the right shows a stately man 
without hair, but with a fine robe, and possest of 
a castle shown in the background. On the left panel 
is a group of figures with landscape behind, but no 
castle. To me the real charm of the triptych was, not 

278 




RAGUSA 

ANCIENT WELL IN DOMINICAN CLOISTER 



ST. BIAGIO, AND THE DOMINICAN CHURCH 

the fact that it was Flemish and so ancient, but that 
it was the identical little altar which centuries ago 
the Sultan permitted the Ragusans to take with 
them and use in their devotions, while paying yearly 
tribute into his treasury in Constantinople. 

The duomo's treasury is probably the most valuable 
in all Dalmatia. It is protected by massive bolts and 
bars, and can be seen only once a week. Even then 
the opening is attended with much formality, the 
bishop, treasurer, and commune each using his own 
key, and having a particular fastening to unlock be- 
fore the great doors swing open. 

The most interesting reliquary is a beautiful one, 
with an intricate pattern in Byzantine enamels, gold, 
and enamel filigree-work. T. G. Jackson, when 
closely examining the relic, at the time he received 
permission to sketch it, discovered "some erratic little 
lines of twisted gold close to the edge," which, to 
his utter astonishment, began to shape themselves 
into letters, forming the name of the Venetian artist, 
Franco Ferro, and the date 1694. I can well imagine 
how indignant the poor Ragusans must have been at 
Jackson's startling discovery; for the reliquary had 
always been claimed to have been made centuries 
earlier. But, fortunately, the English antiquarian 
somewhat softened the blow by admitting that the 
twenty-four Byzantine enamel medallions, with pic- 
tures of St. Biagio and other saintly men, were, no 

279 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

doubt, of a much greater age, and part of some 
antique casket. 

To me the real interest of the quaint reliquary was 
neither its age nor its splendid workmanship, but the 
fact that it contains — or was said to contain — that 
very relic given to the Dominican monks by the poor 
wayfarer in return for his night's lodging — nothing 
less than the very head of good St. Biagio himself! 
Of course, the skeptical may have their doubts, but 
that is to be expected of the uninitiated, who do not 
even know that the patron saint's hand, also, is in one 
of the fine filigree receptacles kept under glass. In 
fact, the treasury not only has portions of the 
anatomy of St. Biagio, but the jaw of St. Stephen of 
Hungary. Queer reliquaries contain the heads, arms, 
thorax, and legs of other holy men, who long ago 
departed this life. 

In leather cases are kept remarkable examples of 
the skill and wonderfully realistic work accomplished 
by an ancient goldsmith. One article is a dish in 
which are ferns and growing things, with most life- 
like frogs, lizards, and other creatures. They are 
all tinted in natural colors, and when water is poured 
into the dish they are said to wriggle about horribly! 
Much to the custodian's disgust, I barely glanced at 
them. They were decidedly too natural to please me. 
They gave me the horrors. 

But chief of all the precious relics, is a cross 
280 



ST. BIAGIO, AND THE DOMINICAN CHURCH 

trimmed with flutings of solid silver, "in which is 
preserved the very largest piece of the True Cross 
in all the world." So, at least, the attendant 
ecclesiastic explained to us with apparent pride. I 
couldn't help thinking of Mark Twain, and what he 
said about the number of nails he had seen from 
the true cross. But not for the world would I have 
exprest any skepticism. 

Turning now to the diary: "There are a number 
of nice people at the Imperial. Of course, as it is 
July, they are not of the fashionable coterie that 
spends the winter months here. John says he's glad of 
it, for in 'the season' everything is high-priced, and the 
hotel jammed with a lot of rich Russians and 
Austrians. Fortunately, there is no one here now 
who is very 'ultra,' and I don a clean shirtwaist and 
sail into the big salon as if we were the real thing 
among American millionaires. Oh! if only we were. 

"Of all the people whom we have met, we like the 
Von Karfenbergs best. He is a great, big Teuton, a 
major in the Kaiser's army, and his 'Freda' is a 
small, black-eyed, dainty little woman, who leads her 
big, blond giant by the nose. They seem to be de- 
voted to each other, and yet they are diametrically 
opposite in type, size, sex, disposition, everything. 
But it only proves the adage that love delights in 
opposites. 

281 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

"Frau Freda Augusta Victoria von Karfenberg, 
as she informed me was her name, without the hint 
of a smile, is a cute little thing, and speaks English 
very well indeed. 'Ach, you have a very gute man,' 
she told me; 'myself can see it. He gets himself 
much provoked when you laugh so much, but he 
says nothing. Now, the major, when he gets himself 
mad, he says something ! When he gets himself more 
and more mad, I see it is the time to begin the pet. 
I say to him, "Ah, my Hans, what then is it which 
you makes provoked?" And I kiss him, and his 
face pet — and soon he smile down at me, and again 
himself is!' 

"When I looked at the big, blond major, who 
looks exactly like a martinet, I marveled at Frau 
Freda's courage; it seemed too absurd to think that 
a wee little mite of a woman could manage so easily 
a huge, broad-shouldered, six-foot, two-hundred- 
pounder, who looks actually ferocious when one of 
the waiters is slow. 

"Frau von Karfenberg has a Fraulein Hedwig Paf- 
fenwinkle with her. She is fair and fat, and wears 
her hair streaked back until she is a perfect fright. 
Her name was enough for me. I disliked her the 
minute I saw her! She has no figure, and looks just 
like a feather bed tied in the middle — and tied 
loosely. I wonder what on earth I would do if I 
looked like that? I'm not the least bit vain, but I 

282 



ST. BIAGIO, AND THE DOMINICAN CHURCH 

really can not help being thankful I'm not stout. 
The girl is herself to blame for looking the fright she 
is, for any woman under the sun who can get hold of 
a looking-glass has no excuse for combing her hair 
as she does. She is a flighty, frivolous thing, too. 

"Frau Freda confided to me, in her quaint Eng- 
lish, that her 'fren Fraulein Hedwig think Herr 
Rolan the most hansom American man' she had ever 
seen. I know very well the designing minx thought 
I'd be fool enough to run straight to John and tell 
him. But no, indeed; I did nothing of the kind. 
Men are all vain enough. Even a sensible man like 
John is not above the wiles of a flattering female. 
He may pooh-pooh, and pretend he isn't as pleased 
as Punch, but I always notice he immediately finds 
something attractive about a girl the very moment 
he finds she is struck with him. I'm not a particle 
jealous — I'd never think of being so silly — but it 
certainly does provoke me to have a hideous, sallow, 
red- faced creature like this Hedwig doing her level 
best to coax John to notice her. Just to show her 
how dowdy she looks I shall do my utmost to look 
my very best to-night. I shall wear my hair coiled 
in a loose Psyche knot, and put on my most becom- 
ing low-necked silk waist and the pretty filigree 
necklace John got me to-day on the Corso — to re- 
place the blue beads I gave 'my girl.' Oh! how I do 
miss them, they were so becoming. I'm actually lost 

283 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

without them. I know I ought to pretend I'm glad 
I gave them to that poor soul — but I am not. I'm just 
selfish enough to wish I had kept them for myself, 
for eternal vigilance is the price of safety — particu- 
larly with a married woman. If she is wise she will 
never part with anything which she knows adds to 
her attractiveness. Men may pretend that they do 
not look at other women, but they do, just the same. 

"Frau von Karfenberg says they, too, are going 
to Cattaro, and they will take the same steamer we 
do. I suppose that fat Dutch creature will stick to 
us like a burr — I mean stick to John. He's the one 
she makes eyes at, not me. Poor thing! She is so 
unattractive I ought to feel sorry for her; I don't 
suppose she ever had a decent-looking fellow pay her 
any attention in her life. But no wonder she is 
envious of a little, curly-headed, featherweight like 
me, who has an adorable, handsome husband like 
John. If I had a red-head with a wig like 'Head- 
wigs/ I would want to go and drown myself! 

"But there is one thing I can not understand. More 
than once I have caught John gazing at the creature. 
I asked him why he looked at the minx so hard? He 
said, she put him in mind of some one he knew, and 
he was trying to think who it was. 'Heavens/ I 
cried, 'if there are two women who look like that, I 
don't see how you have been able to forget the first 
one.' He declared he 'didn't think she was at all 

284 



ST. BIAGIO, AND THE DOMINICAN CHURCH 

bad-looking!' Then I got provoked, and I told him: 
'If you mean to say that that Pfaffenwinkle creature 
is good-looking, John Roland, you need never tell 
me again that I am. For you don't know a decent- 
looking woman when you see one!' 

" 'Why, you are not jealous of the Fraulein, are 
you?' he asked with the most exasperating smile, 
twisting up the ends of his mustache, which he knew 
would provoke me. 

" 'Mercy no ! Why should I be ?' I replied icily. 
'I hardly think that Mrs. John Roland need fear the 
superior attractiveness of Fraulein Hedwig Pfaffen- 
winkle.' My scorn and withering sarcasm utterly 
routed John, and he didn't say another word about 
the minx. But I intend to keep my eyes open. John 
would be nothing but a child in the hands of a 
woman like that." 



28= 



XV 

RAGUSA: THE RECTOR'S PALACE, AND ITS 
STORY 

There is no more imposing structure in Ragusa 
than the Rector's Palace, at the end of the Piazza. 
It is not only beautiful architecturally, but of great 
interest from an historical point of view. Exactly 
as the story of the Doge's Palace is the story of 
Venice, so this old home of Ragusa's ancient rettore 
is the monument of her past glory and the embodi- 
ment of that invincible spirit of freedom which is 
written in letters of gold on every page of her his- 
tory for centuries. 

A person must be entirely unimaginative if he sees 
only an ancient building when he views the Rector's 
Palace. Doors and windows, the loggia and the 
stone seats under it, the very capitals of the columns, 
have each some quaint story to tell, if we but care 
to know it. 

In olden times, what is now the Corso was merely 
a marshy canal, a shallow arm of the sea, which 
separated the towering walls of warring little colonies, 
which, having become amalgamated, the canal was 

286 



THE RECTOR'S PALACE 

tilled up, and the present site of the palace occupied 
by a castle, which, as far back as the thirteenth cen- 
tury, was spoken of as "very ancient." In the year 
1388 the first mansion, as a residence for Ragusa's 
chief executive, was constructed. Its stirring history 
began when it burned down less than half a century 
later. It was then rebuilt, but again destroyed by 
fire in 1462, the year in which, beside the great 
conflagration, Ragusa suffered a visitation from the 
plague, which carried off more than two thousand 
of her people. 

Fortunately, for those of us who love these quaint 
tales of days that are gone, a year before this fire an 
old gentleman, named De Diversis, came to live in 
the city. He was a man of culture and learning, and 
knew how to use both his eyes and ears. In an 
ancient Latin manuscript written by his own hand, 
he sets forth in detail the story of the Rector's Palace 
— a graphic narrative from which antiquarians have 
gained most valuable data and been able to recon- 
struct, chapter by chapter, the many vicissitudes the 
hoary old structure has known in the five and a 
quarter centuries of its history. 

De Diversis tells us that, on the 10th of August, 
in 1435, a fierce fire "consumed the spacious Palace 
of Ragusa, which was in ancient times the castle, 
together with certain towers and nearly all the am- 
munition and arms which were kept for the defense 

287 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA* 

of the city and the armament of the galleys." The 
loss of the ammunition is easily understood when it 
is known that the arsenal was just behind the palace, 
and that most of the damage was occasioned by the 
explosion of the powder magazine, rather than by 
the flames. But, altho the lesson seems to have been 
plain enough, the Ragusans failed to profit by it. In 
rebuilding their demolished palace they continued to 
keep their explosives in dangerous proximity to their 
most important building, and again with disastrous 
consequences. 

Several translations of De Diversis' manuscript 
have been made, to the number of which Mr. Jackson 
has added an English version, which he himself was 
permitted to make from the time-yellowed pages 
treasured in the library of the Franciscans' convent. 
The eminent English writer is never more charming 
than in his artistic treatment of the story as told by 
De Diversis. His own pen has added new beauty 
to the old stones, by twining about them green liter- 
ary garlands and fragrant flowers gathered from 
the garden of the past; a long-dead past, whose 
withered flowers, by the magic of this historian's 
pen, are made to bloom again for us. 

De Diversis says the Government having decided 
that "the palace should be rebuilt with more mag- 
nificent construction, sparing no expense," a certain 
Master Onofrio Giordani de la Cava, of the kingdom 

288 



THE RECTOR'S PALACE 

of Naples, was secured to undertake the work. That 
Onofrio did the work, and did it well, De Diversis 
clearly states, for he declares that "the stone walls 
are finely wrought and very ornamentally carved, 
with great vaults resting on tall and stout columns, 
which were brought by sea from Curzola. The 
capitals, or upper parts of these columns, are carved 
with great pains. There are five large entire col- 
umns, and two half -columns, one attached to one 
tower and the other to the other; on the first was 
carved "^Esculapius, the restorer of medical art," a 
decoration suggested by a learned gentleman of 
Ragusa who happened to be chancellor at the time. 

De Diversis proceeds to explain seriously that 
Nicolo de Lazina, a nobleman from Cremona, and 
a man of great weight, who "knew and had learned 
in his literary studies that ^Esculapius had his origin 
at Epidaurus, which is now called Ragusa, took the 
greatest pains and trouble that his image should be 
carved on the building." He did more, by composing 
a poem himself, as an epitaph on the Father of 
Medicine. 

People may scoff at ^sculapius ! But the learned 
chancellor "knew and had learned" that the famous, 
but supposed to be fabulous, personage was born in 
old Ragusa. My mythology says his father was a 
certain handsome young man named Apollo, and his 
mother a lady named Coronis. Apollo, getting 

289 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

jealous, made the Unwritten Law his excuse for dis- 
patching Coronis. The infant ^Esculapius was sent 
"to be educated" at a thriving baby-farm of an- 
tiquity, presided over by a famous centaur named 
Chiron, a most successful teacher "who had in- 
structed in all the polite arts the greatest heroes of 
his age, such as Achilles, Hercules, Jason, and 
^Esculapius." 

I do hope ^Esculapius was not "the thankless 
child" we know Hercules turned out to be. His only 
return for his foster-parent's care and teaching was 
to shoot Chiron in the knee. The wound (notwith- 
standing Chiron's knowledge of medicine) became 
incurable, and caused such agony that the poor 
centaur decided life wasn't worth living, and asked 
to be permitted to resign from the immortals, pre- 
ferring to take up his position in the sky as that 
lovely constellation we all enjoy on a clear summer 
night — the mildly beaming Sagittarius. John laughed 
when I said it would be a good thing if other in- 
dividuals, like poor old Chiron — "half -man, half- 
beast" — could be so satisfactorily disposed of. 

One of the most interesting things to see at Ra- 
gusa Vecchia is the wonderful cave, or grotto, sup- 
posed to be the Mons Cadmseus of antiquity, which 
is just outside the city. The entrance is through a 
huge hole in the living rock. The cavern itself is 
shaped like a cross. It is one hundred and sixty-four 

290 



THE RECTOR'S PALACE 

feet long by ninety-two feet wide, and is famous 
for its beautiful stalactites and stalagmites. There 
is a deep pool in the center, known as the "Nymph's 
Bath." The water is very salt, and icy cold. The 
story goes that a terrible dragon once inhabited the 
cave, but was attacked and killed by a pious hermit — 
the good Saint Hilary — who notified the people to 
"give thanks to God, for he had 'burned the Devil !' " 
which was certainly just the reverse of his satanic 
majesty's usual program. It was a case, John said, 
in which the biter was bit, the burner burned! That 
/Esculapius really was worshiped at Epidaurus three 
hundred years before Christ, is an authenticated fact. 
There was an ancient statue in Ragusa Vecchia of 
the Father of Medicine, which represented him in the 
form of a huge serpent. A visitation of the plague 
in Rome, in 2,27 B.C., was so severe the sacred statue 
was sent for, and, of course, "on its arrival in the 
Eternal City the scourge was at once allayed." 

De Diversis minutely describes several sculptures 
that Onofrio himself carved "at the entrance to the 
palace." One was a group, showing "the first right- 
eous judgment of Solomon." In a certain angle of 
the principal door is a likeness of the Rector hearing 
offenses. Another is "a certain sculpture of Justice 
holding a 'brief,' on which we read as follows : 'Jussi 
sum ma mei,' etc." 

All this would mean but little, and be of small 

2QT 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

interest to us, were it not for the fact that these 
very sculptures described by De Diversis in medieval 
Latin may still be found in the palace. This is true, 
notwithstanding the fact that only a few years after 
the completion of the palace of "more magnificent 
construction, sparing no expense," it was again de- 
stroyed by fire in exactly the same way as the first. 

August seems to have always been a fatal month 
for Ragusa. Just twenty-seven years later (on August 
8, 1462) the second great fire occurred. By the 
stupidity of the Ragusans in not having removed the 
arsenal to a safe distance from the new palace, the 
powder magazine again got in its work. Gelcich 
states that "the greater part of the Rector's Palace 
was destroyed, the ground floor alone escaping the 
general ruin." 

Undismayed, the Grand Council lost no time in re- 
pairing the ruins occasioned by the explosion. 

Now comes the best part of the whole story. The 
important work of reconstruction was entrusted to 
two famous architects. One was a certain Michelozzo 
Michelozzi, noted as "one of the most able architects 
of his time," not only a pupil of the great Italian 
sculptor, Donatello, but Himself the builder of the 
Palazzo Riccardi in Florence, which he constructed 
for the famous Medici family. But hardly a year 
elapsed before Michelozzo — or ozzi — or plain Michael 
as I shall call him — who had been busily engaged in 

292 



THE RECTOR'S PALACE 

rebuilding the city walls, was called away from Ra- 
gusa, and never returned. 

So the curtain rises on a new architect, to whom 
was entrusted the enormous labor of artistically re- 
constructing the badly demolished palace — no less a 
personage than Giorgio Orsini, that sculptor, archi- 
tect, and humble workman whom the proud Italian 
family scorned to acknowledge as an Orsini, but who 
will be remembered as the great artist George of 
Sebenico, as long as his beautiful cathedral, his 
stupendous Torre Menze, and his lovely Rector's 
Palace, shall endure. 

The palace fronts on the Piazza, and is two stories 
in height. The upper story has eight two-light 
Gothic windows, and on the ground floor the facade 
has a lovely loggia of six round arches, built between 
two solid ends, upon which were once little, squat, 
battlemented towers. 

It isn't necessary to go into Jackson's lengthy ex- 
planations, interlarded as they are with untranslated 
Latin quotations, and bristling with technical archi- 
tectural terms, to enjoy the result of his labors. It 
suffices to know that Giorgio followed as nearly as 
he could Onofrio's original plan, and utilized as far 
as possible every portion of sculptured stone, the 
handiwork of his talented predecessor. 

With the account of De Diversis as a guide, the 
old stones are made to tell their story. Giorgio did 

293 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

his work so well that in spite of the great earth- 
quake in 1667, three years after he completed his 
restorations, the building survived, altho "for a time 
the Rector had to be housed elsewhere." Giorgio 
must, indeed, have done his work well, for the re- 
constructed palace, after two and a half centuries, 
still exists, a structure closely resembling the original, 
built by Onofrio in 1435. 

The Venetian Gothic windows were Onofrio's, as 
well as all the Curzola stone columns of the loggia; 
also the splendid doorway under it, leading into the 
palace. Onofrio's hand also carved the tiers of 
stone seats, spoken of as "Sotto i volti" in the ancient 
documents. Here, on the carved stone benches on 
each side of the doorway, on state occasions sat the 
rettore, with the archbishop and his council around 
him. Here we, too, can sit "under the arches" and 
watch the life of Ragusa pass before our eyes; in- 
teresting people of to-day, whom we may watch pass- 
ing down the sunny Piazza with quaint jars and 
buckets, on their way to Onofrio's pretty little foun- 
tain near the clock-tower, and others going to their 
devotions in the Duomo, on whose broad stone steps 
and quaint facade, adorned with saints in little 
niches on each side of the doorway, we can catch a 
charming glimpse as we glance through the arches of 
the loggia. Or we may dream of those grander per- 
sonages who once sat where we sit, in long, flowing 

294 



THE RECTOR'S PALACE 

tunics, the "Dalmatics" with angel sleeves — which 
senators of Ragusa donned on state occasions — and 
imagine that Marino Caboga himself, or even De 
Diversis, may suddenly appear in the great doorway, 
coming from a private audience with the rector, or 
from a social visit to some of the lesser dignitaries of 
the establishment. . 

Surely no better place in all Ragusa could be 
found than right here "under the arches" of the 
loggia, in which to sit and study the handiwork of 
two famous sculptors — capitals so exquisitely quaint 
they delight our eyes; carvings so harmoniously 
grouped that it is hard to realize they were made by 
two skilful craftsmen, separated by two centuries and 
a half of time. Jackson cleverly proves that the 
three central capitals, showing cupids holding up 
festoons of laurel and "other Renaissance devices," 
are Giorgio's own, together with the six round 
arches of classic design showing oak leaves inter- 
twined with ribbons. The other four capitals, two 
on each side, are the very "magno studio sculpta" of 
Onofrio, so honestly admired by De Diversis. 

In proof of his contention, Jackson points out that 
all of Giorgio's work is in the Renaissance style, and 
infinitely inferior to Onofrio's magnificent "gems of 
Gothic sculpture" ; but it must be confessed that, to 
the eyes of the uninitiated, all the capitals of the 
loggia are equally beauiful. To me, it seems little 

295 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

short of heresy to speak of Giorgio's capitals as "in- 
ferior," and if it is true that his ornamental abaci 
are "heavy," I'm glad I don't know enough about an 
abacus to discover it. Then, too, it is admitted that 
Giorgio changed the Onofrio pointed arches to round 
ones, and had to build up the abaci, or the tops of 
the capitals would have been too short for the vault- 
ing. 

It seems an absurdity to think that positive proof 
of the change of capitals could be hit upon after 
more than two centuries; but it is the unexpected 
which happens. Jackson reasoned that if Giorgio 
had not used three of the Onofrio's capitals he could 
prove his contention if he could only ascertain what 
had become of them. As luck would have it, Pro- 
fessor Freeman, when visiting Ragusa some years 
before, had noticed, in a garden in Gravosa, an old 
capital having the very carving of the Judgment of 
Solomon, which De Diversis had described as Ono- 
frio's work, and which he had explicitly stated was 
in front of the palace. But Freeman, when casually 
alluding to the discovery in his delightful book, "Sub- 
ject and Neighbor Lands of Venice," said, as the 
outer arcade was complete, he was at a loss to ac- 
count for it. 

Not so Jackson. The moment he had an oppor- 
tunity he made off post haste to Gravosa, hoping to 
substantiate his theory by this fortunate link in the 

296 



THE RECTOR'S PALACE 

chain. From a Count Caboga, the owner of the 
capital, he received a courteous reception and per- 
mission to study and draw to his heart's content the 
mutilated relic then lying in his garden near Gravosa. 
By careful measurements it was found exactly to fit 
Onofrio's columns, and — as if to "make assurance 
doubly sure" — Jackson discovered the identical narrow 
abacus, showing running foliage, which Giorgio had 
left (on the capital of the left-hand end column) 
when he built it up by adding his own "heavily deco- 
rated abacus." 

The Englishman s delight at the amazing proof of 
the theory which he alone had so cleverly deduced, 
may well be imagined; for his surmise proved to be 
an absolute fact. He shows infinite satisfaction when 
he proceeds to explain that "even the design on the 
back and sides is exactly the same as that on the end 
capital, which I had been drawing that very morning, 
with the self-same birds perched in the middle, peck- 
ing fruit." 

Last, but not least, on studying the loggia capitals, 
what do we see on the end column, against the wall 
to the right, but Onofrio's /Esculapius design, sug- 
gested by the chancellor, who "knew and had learned" 
that Esculapius was born in Ragusa. And more 
than this, over the small door in the wall behind it, 
on a marble slab, is the Latin epitaph he himself com- 
posed in his honor. The YEsculapius capital is much 

297 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

more to us than simply an ancient sculpture, which 
De Diversis saw being carved by Onofrio in the year 
1435, at the request of the chancellor, Nicolo de 
Lazina. It not only gives a splendid idea of what 
iEsculapius was supposed to look like, but shows 
the retorts, alembics and other paraphernalia of the 
most ancient of practitioners. The Father of Medi- 
cine is shown as an amiable-looking old gentleman, 
with a long and carefully crimped beard streaming 
over his deep collar, trimmed with fringe. His long, 
flowing robe buttons all the way down the front, but 
is partially open at the bottom, which is finished with 
small, round tassels. He sits beside a queer little 
case of shelves, on which are seen his jugs and jars. 
In one hand he holds a book — Pharmacopseia Medica, 
of course, or whatever name he gave to his "Book 
of Family Medicine' 2 — and his other rests on one of 
the shelves, which contains a little pile of drugs. 
Below, on the floor at his feet, is a retort ready for 
use. Round the corner is shown the figures of two 
men in short tunics, one wearing a skull cap, and 
the other a turban. The fellow with a turban carries 
a fowl by the legs. It looked to me like a sick 
chicken, so I imagined he must be a chicken fancier 
bringing one of his "prize roosters" to be doctored. 
But John reminded me, that as fowls were one of the 
offerings sacred to ^Esculapius, the man was about 
to present it to the medical gentleman. But, as I told 

298 




RAGUSA 

INNER COURT OF RECTOR'S PALACE 



THE RECTOR'S PALACE 

him, in Maryland at least, while chickens are often 
presented to the country doctor, it doesn't show 
reverence, so much as the fact that the M.D.'s bill 
is unpaid. 

The rector, while he made the palace his abode, 
was a magnificent personage, but his greatness was 
ephemeral. He was elected for only one month, and 
could not be re-elected under an interval of two 
years. Villari tells us that he was a mere figurehead, 
and that his chief duty was to summon the Grand 
Council, the Senate, and the Minor Council, over 
which he himself presided. It consisted of only 
seven members, but was a most important body, 
somewhat like the "Council of Ten" in Venice, only 
the rector did not have as much power as that per- 
mitted to a doge. The rector had the keeping of the 
keys and state seals, and for his brief reign was 
always robed in scarlet from head to foot; never 
being permitted to leave the official mansion without 
going forth in state, attended by twenty-four gor- 
geously red-robed attendants, preceded by the munici- 
pal band and a horde of palace functionaries. The 
Ragusans were very jealous of any encroachment 
on the freedom of their republic. They not only 
limited their chief magistrate's official term to a 
beggarly "thirty days," but when the King of Hun- 
gary, in 1441, conferred the title of "Arch Rector" 
upon their ruler, after mature deliberation, the 

299 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

senate refused to permit its use, "fearing it might 
inspire him with a dangerous ambition." All noble- 
born males over eighteen years of age were elected 
senators for life, but every year they had to be con- 
firmed. 

A strange account is given by Villari, quite ser- 
iously, which makes it all the more piquant. It seems 
that all the donors of generous amounts in aid of the 
long-building votive church were, by law, honored by 
having the municipal band play outside their resi- 
dences every Saturday afternoon. Evidently, the 
music was not of a high order, or the recipients of 
the honor tired of the band's repertoire, for in 1548, 
less than a century later, the descendants of the gen- 
erous ones requested that -the concerts be transferred 
elsewhere, and suggested that they be given "in 
front of the votive crucifix," then hanging in the 
church of St. Biagio, instead of in front of their 
domiciles — an astonishingly modest request, which 
was immediately granted. 

Onofrio's doorway, leading from the loggia to the 
inner court of the palace, is magnificent. It has a 
pointed arch decorated with a running scroll of 
foliage, in which appear, at intervals, the cutest 
little human figures. There are also quaint groups 
on the imposts, which are all the work of the ancient 
sculptor. The group to the right is most interesting. 
It shows four little angels, or amorini, with wings 

300 



THE RECTOR'S PALACE 

and nimbus. One is seen seated at a primitive- 
looking organ, while one of his companions amiably 
works the bellows, and another appears to be a 
pleased listener. But the last cupid is the most 
astonishing figure of all. He stands behind the organist 
blowing a long horn, from which flutters a pennant; 
the upper part of his body "faces the music," while 
from the hips down the body is turned in exactly the 
opposite direction. On the opposite side is another 
group with the same queer perspective. But the 
authorities say they are "finely carved and full of 
fancy," so I suppose they must be. Certainly there 
is no lack of fancy, for the groups include armed 
warriors, a pair of embracing lovers, with Dan Cupid 
looking on with amusement, and a party dancing to 
the merry music of a horn. 

Before entering the palace, notice must be taken of 
the two splendid antique bronze knockers on the double 
doors. One is a Byzantine fourteenth century lion's 
head, with a huge ring in his jaws. But, maybe, it 
wasn't intended for a lion, for it is a strange-looking 
beast, with funny little ears standing straight up, 
and all around the head is a nimbus like the rays of 
the sun. The other knocker is not nearly so old or so 
interesting. It has an armed knight standing on a lion's 
head, but is of a date hundreds of years later than its 
neighbor, which is supposed to have been saved from 
the fire which destroyed the original palace. 

301 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

The inner court is most pleasing. It has an upper 
and lower vaulted arcade, but, unfortunately, the 
upper columns have been enclosed with glass, which 
spoils the effect. There is a broad, imposing marble 
stair leading to the upper story. A smaller flight of 
stone steps, under the shade of the arcade, leads to 
the mezzanine floor, and the chamber occupied by 
"the seven," or Minore Consiglio, who were only 
minor in numbers, being the most important indi- 
viduals in the republic. Beside their door will be 
seen another of the sculptured groups De Diversis 
mentioned, the figure of Justice with her scroll, and 
with two mutilated lions standing on each side of 
her, as if on guard. And, best of all, an observant 
eye will recognize on a nearby column the very likeness 
of that fifteenth century Rector whom Onofrio 
carved in his official robes "administering justice." 

The interior of the palace has suffered from hav- 
ing been much modernized. Villari mentions an old 
wooden ceiling, "charmingly painted with arabesque 
designs, and gilding, dating, I should imagine, from 
the sixteenth or early seventeenth century." But we 
could find no one who could understand us; our 
English and smattering of French, German and 
Italian being equally unintelligible, Croatian being 
the only tongue spoken by the two individuals we 
encountered in the palace. 

The dungeons for the unfortunate "prisoners of 
302 



THE RECTOR'S PALACE 

State" were under the court and reached by horribly- 
dark, little stairs. The cells were terribly gloomy 
holes like those under the Doge's Palace. It is 
known that, in the old days, in many instances the 
most "undesirable citizens" were effectively disposed 
of by being "walled up alive." 

Poking about by ourselves, we discovered an 
alcove in the shadow of the great marble staircase. 
In it was a quaint drinking-fountain. We obtained 
a drink in our traveling cup, not caring to use the 
tarnished and battered-up dipper, which, from its 
fatigue appearance, looked as if it might have 
been doing duty for endless eons. 

I must not forget the half-length bronze figure we 
saw in the court, sitting on a low, white marble 
pedestal. It represents a sort of Ragusan John D. 
Rockefeller, who left the republic the sum of 200,000 
ducats in the year 1638. Time is often just a huge 
wet sponge which ruthlessly erases every vestige of 
good deeds. It is said the very name of the re- 
public's benefactor had been forgotten by the hand- 
ful of survivors of the terrible earthquake — for re- 
publics are ever ungrateful. But the shaking up the 
bronze figure received when the statue was hurled 
from its pedestal brought to light an inscribed plate, 
which recorded the name of Captain Pracat, the 
donor, and his gift, a munificent sum in those days. 

There is a charming little love story connected 

303 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

with this famous court which I must tell you, for it 
adds a touch of romance to the staid and dignified 
place. It seems that once among the political prison- 
ers was a young man who was awaiting trial. He 
was permitted by a humane jailer — for a considera- 
tion, I suppose — to take the air and exercise in the 
courtyard each morning. There being no prison 
barber in those days, the young noble was forced to 
permit his beard to grow, which in time gave him a 
most venerable appearance. The rector's fair daugh- 
ter was also a daughter of Eve, and each morning 
tript out to the upper gallery to peep down at the 
poor old gentleman walking in the court. At last 
she was so touched at the man's sad and dejected 
air that she let her curiosity get the better of her 
prudence, openly inquiring of one of her father's 
two dozen red-robed attendants who the old Moslem 
was, and for what crime he had been immured? 

When she learned that the man was a young and 
handsome Ragusan noble, the pity she had given the 
old man soon changed to love for the young one. 
Naturally, it was not long before the prisoner, too, for- 
got his wrongs, with Dan Cupid looking down with 
smiling eyes upon him every morning from the upper 
arcade; and his joyous heart began to sing a 
triumphant spring song. In his dungeon the young 
man pondered upon the story the attendant told him, 
and spent his days longing for the hour in which he 

304 



THE RECTOR'S PALACE 

might catch a fleeting glimpse of the lovely young 
girl in her trailing white draperies under the shade 
of the marble arches. He turned the joke on his 
appearance to good account, writing in his gloomy 
cell a splendid love epic which he called "The Mos- 
lem," because that was the name she had given him. 
By and by the senate discovered that the man had 
been wrongfully accused, and he was not only duly 
released from durance vile, but profuse regrets and 
many apologies were made by the authorities for 
their unfortunate mistake. The young man thought 
it no misfortune; for the great rector himself, at 
his request, introduced him to his blushing daughter, 
who had, of course, woman-like, interested herself 
in his trial; and she, having already given him her 
heart, lost no time in giving him her hand also. So 
they were married, and lived happily ever after — and 
his great epic, "The Moslem," to this day is the 
finest poem in the ancient literature of the Republic 
of Ragusa. 



305 



XVI 

GLIMPSES OF ST. GIACOMO, LACROMA, AND 
THE BOCCHE 

A 1 delightful jaunt from Ragusa is the one to St. 
Giacomo degli Olivi, a deserted monastery nestling in 
a bower of green high above the sea. The drive from 
Ragusa, while not nearly so long, nor quite so mag- 
nificent, as the famous drive from Sorrento to 
Amalfi, strongly reminded us of it. On a high ledge, 
the road follows the curves of the winding shore, 
passing a succession of lovely villas surrounded by 
glowing gardens, which, on the right, descend in 
terraces adorned with statuary and flowers down to 
the blue waters of the Adriatic. 

Looking back we saw Ragusa, crowning the 
jagged rocks, an elfin city with old gray forts and 
battlements, and a miniature blue harbor glistening 
in the sun. Distant fishing craft, with their brightly 
colored lateen sails, looked like toy boats, and Fort 
Imperial, built by the great Napoleon, seemed just 
a tiny white sentry-box perched on the summit of 
Monte Sergio, towering bleak and bare over the 
gleaming city — a city whose fairy-like campaniles 
lifted their heads like flowers above the hoary walls. 

306 





RAGUSA 

MIGHTY CRAGS AND MEDIEVAL FORTIFICATIONS 
ANCIENT HARBOR AND ISLAND OF LACROMA 



GLIMPSES OF ST. GIACOMO AND LACROMA 

We drove through Ragusa along the splendid road 
that runs below the inner fortifications that were 
constructed on what was once the bottom of an 
ancient moat. After winding around the bastions, 
we at last ascended and passed out to the road which 
meanders away to Cattaro. Just outside the massive 
defenses of Porta Plocce, is an old Renaissance foun- 
tain, where the road branches off and climbs the 
mountain to Trebinje. Close by is the old bazaar — 
all markets are known here as bazaars. On market 
days, a motley collection of farm produce and mer- 
chandise is offered for sale. Turkish and Herze- 
govinian country people, and Montenegrins preside 
over rough wooden stalls, and barter interminably 
over crude, home-made wares and the paltry collec- 
tions of produce raised on their stony mountain 
farms. The road is protected by a wall on one side, 
where we sat watching the crowds — while slovenly 
looking peasants watered painfully cadaverous and 
fly-tormented donkeys — and looked down to the 
"Schwimm-Schule" on the rocky shore below, reached 
by a flight of steep, stone steps. 

We saw a number of ladies and children in the 
water, all wearing straw bathing-hats or other head- 
covering, and with shoes of some kind on their 
feet. The glare was so blinding, and the basin so 
full of jagged rocks, we didn't envy them their bath, 
warm as the air certainly was, and delightfully cool 

307 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

and refreshing as the sea looked. The scenery here 
all along the shore is simply exquisite. We saw 
many blossoming aloes and great clumps of cacti 
covered with blooms. There were any number of 
gnarled olive trees and lovely palms with huge fringed 
leaves casting a grateful shade under which we drew 
up, to enjoy the view. The rocky shore below was 
washed by the bluest of blue seas, canopied by a 
cloudless sky of the deepest Italian blue. 

Our cocker was a great, fat, lumbering creature, 
as kind and jovial as he was huge. He seemed to 
know every living person we encountered. On the 
way to the monastery, we came face to face with a 
dignified Franciscan in dark habit, walking along the 
road reading his breviary. His head was bare and 
his sandaled feet covered with dust. Notwithstand- 
ing the heat and glare he plodded along, intent only 
on his book. Our coachman not only saluted him by 
name, but pulled up his team and entered at once 
into a voluble conversation with him. That he gave 
him, in Croatian, our full history we didn't doubt, for 
the ecclesiastic smiled and nodded as he surrep- 
titiously glanced in our direction. We caught the 
word "Amer-i-kar" more than once. 

The old convent, named for Saint James, nestles 
in the lovely gray-green olive trees. By a path be- 
hind the moldering walls, through a tangle of white 
clematis, wild honeysuckle, ferns, and fragrant pink 

308 



GLIMPSES OF ST. GIACOMO AND LACROMA 

and white oleanders, we meandered down the steep 
hillside to a little grotto on the shore called Spila 
Betina. From rocks below the monastery the view 
is marvelously beautiful. Like a lone sentinel sleep- 
ing on his arms, the little island of Lacroma sleeps 
on the water. We could plainly see the roofs of the 
buildings on the island rising above the green tree- 
tops. 

We paid this historic landmark a visit. Having 
inquired the way, we went through the arch under 
the clock-tower and down a passageway, which 
brought us out to the ancient marina, where it is en- 
circled by the great walls and bastions. Here a 
steam launch brought us to Lacroma in a few min- 
utes. A Benedictine monastery was founded on 
this island in 1023. The story goes that King 
Richard, Cceur de Lion, when returning from the 
Holy Land, encountered a terrible storm, and be- 
lieving his ship with all on board would be lost, he 
made a vow to the Virgin, imploring her aid and 
promising, if she would save them, he would build 
her a church on whatever spot his foot first touched 
the land. His ship was blown by the tempest on the 
island of Lacroma, and Richard was saved from a 
watery grave. The king intended to erect his votive 
church on the island, as he had promised, but the 
Ragusans implored him to remember how much 
more pleasing it would be to the Madonna to have 

309 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

him erect it in Ragusa ; which, after much persuasion, 
he did, contenting himself with building a monastery 
and small chapel on the island. It is a pity to spoil 
this story by explaining that the church archives 
prove that the cathedral was built, at least partially, 
by contributions from Ragusa' s own citizens. Per- 
haps Richard permitted them to help him out finan- 
cially, inasmuch as, to oblige them, it had been neces- 
sary for him to build two churches instead of one. 
The duomo then built was demolished by the great 
earthquake. Its splendid mosaics, beautiful carvings, 
marble thrones for archbishop and rector, solid silver 
statue of the Virgin, and magnificent stained-glass 
windows, are now but memories of its long-vanished 
glory. 

In our own record of time, the unfortunate Maxi- 
milian, brother of Franz Joseph, Emperor of 
Austria, purchased the island of Lacroma and con- 
verted the ruined monastery of the Middle Ages into 
a palatial modern residence for himself — much to 
the horror of pious folks. Heads were wagged 
ominously, at "such an act of sacrilege," and dire 
consequences were freely predicted — unhappy prognos- 
tications which, alas! came true. Even those of us 
who smile at the tale of "a curse being laid upon the 
place" have to admit that the saddest associations 
cling to the apartments once occupied by Maximilian. 
We all remember how he afterward left his beautiful 

310 



GLIMPSES OF ST. GIACOMO AND LACROMA 

home of Miramar, a white marble palace on the 
Adriatic not far from Trieste, and also deserted this 
lovely sylvan retreat at Lacroma, in order to enjoy for 
a few brief hours the honors of Emperor of Mexico. 
When captured and imprisoned by those who op- 
posed his imperial designs, he suffered an ignomin- 
ious death — being shot as a traitor. Maximilian 
himself had declared that "all those bearing arms 
against the empire'' should be "treated as bandits." 
His own decision signed his death-warrant. 

The Empress Carlotta, his wife, went also to 
Mexico, and received with him imperial honors. 
When the United States refused to recognize 
Maximilian as Emperor of Mexico, she was hastily 
dispatched by her husband to France, to implore 
Napoleon III. to keep his promises of support. But 
Napoleon preferred to break his word to Maximilian 
rather than break his friendship with the United 
States — which had peremptorily demanded "the with- 
drawal of French troops from Mexico." Poor Car- 
lotta was equally unsuccessful in her attempt to 
obtain the assistance she craved from Pope Pius IX. 
Foreseeing, with woman's intuition, the fate of her 
beloved husband, she became hopelessly insane. This 
unfortunate woman, born a princess of Belgium, the 
only daughter of Leopold I., is to this day ignorant 
of the death of her spouse, being still raving mad, 
and confined in a private sanitarium near Brussels. 

3ii 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

It is a very sad story, and lends a melancholy in- 
terest to the books, pictures, and other personal be- 
longings of the ill-fated pair, still treasured at 
Lacroma — mournful relics of those who left the 
peace and tranquility of their lovely island one fair 
spring morning, never to return. 

Still another ill-fated Archduke of Austria made 
the island his summer residence — the handsome, 
dashing young Crown Prince Rudolph, only son and 
heir of the Emperor Franz Joseph. Scoffing at all 
the "croakings" of those who declared "misfortune 
would surely fall upon any layman who should dare 
to dwell within the sacred walls dedicated to the 
worship of God," heedless of the fate of his uncle, 
Rudolph, with a party of gay companions, made 
Lacroma his abode. But it was not here, but at 
Meyerling, that Nemesis overtook Rudolph. One 
morning the world was aghast to learn that, in some 
mysterious manner, the gay young heir to the throne 
of Austria had lost his life in his small hunting lodge. 
In the same apartment, covered with blood, was dis- 
covered the corpse of the young and beautiful Coun- 
tess Vetsera. Bullets had ended both their lives. 
To this day strange stories are whispered about, but 
the exact truth as to what happened at Meyerling has 
never been published. One explanation, however, 
seems probable, for we know that "hell hath no fury 
like a woman scorned," and the poor little Countess had 

312 



GLIMPSES OF ST. GIACOMO AND LACROMA 

"loved not wisely, but too well." Still more true 
and inevitable are the words of the Good Book, "The 
wages of sin is death." Those who suffered most 
were not these victims of a mad infatuation, but the 
old emperor, who was bereft of his heir, and the 
heartbroken Empress Elizabeth, a mother robbed of 
her adored son. Elizabeth suffered much. Death 
came to her from an assassin's hand. We saw a 
bronze monument to her memory at Pola. I re- 
member it looked new and incongruous in such close 
proximity to the immense amphitheater. 

Lacroma had too many melancholy reminders of 
ill-fated archdukes to please me. I turned my back 
gladly on all the mournful relics preserved there, 
preferring to delight my eyes with the view. From 
the windows stretched before me a magnificent 
panorama, over the old gardens and across the smil- 
ing water to Ragusa — that dream city of the past. 
Lovely Ragusa, with every tower and bastion, every 
campanile and turret, every dome and cupola, kissed 
by the setting sun; in my heart I shall ever cherish 
a memory of that gray and hoary mountain, with a 
gleaming city in its arms — like good St. Biagio hold- 
ing his little silver model to his breast. 

To my diary once more, written on board the 
Dampfschiff Kotor: "If we missed seeing anything 
in Ragusa, I'm sure I do not know what it is. We 

313 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

were on the go constantly, and still the wonder grew 
that one small town could hold so much to see and 
enjoy. My poor feet still ache terribly, I've been on 
them so much; but, tired as I am, I'd be quite willing 
to go over everything again, our experiences were so 
unique, and all Ragusa was so delightfully interest- 
ing. The Pfaffenwinkle complained that 'the city 
was so very, very small,' and she frankly confessed she 
found it 'so hot, and so tiresome, all the day look- 
ing!' But what could you expect of an undemon- 
strative, phlegmatic creature who hasn't the faintest 
conception of what the word 'artistic' means? 

"She sits next to John at table. This morning, 
when she came lumbering in, she was all decked out 
in a spick-and-span white gown. She forgot all about 
me — but, as she took her seat, leaned toward John 
with elephantine coyness, and said, insinuatingly, al- 
most in his ear: 'Guten morgen, Herr Ro-lundt.' I 
didn't propose to sit back and be ignored. I leaned 
forward, and said, very distinctly: 'Good morning, 
Fraulein Pfaffenwinkle!' She turned as red as a 
beet, and stammered, 'Guten morgen, Fraulein Ro- 
lundt.' I laughed cattishly — as a cat would, if it 
could. 'Not Fraulein, but Frau Roland, if you please. 
My husband will tell you I've been a dignified matron 
now for eight years — altho, I imagine, you and I 
are just about the same age.' That settled her for a 
while; but, of course, John had to take me to task 

3i4 



GLIMPSES OF ST. GIACOMO AND LACROMA 

the moment he could, and ask why I 'had spoken so 
rudely to Fraulein Hedwig?' I pretended to be 
amazed. 

" 'Why, what did I say ? She is about my age, 
isn't she?' I asked innocently. 

" 'Yes ; but she flushed all up, and didn't seem to 
like it.' 

" 'Oh ! she didn't ? May I inquire, since you seem 
to be in her confidence, why she objected? I am not 
a Methuselah, yet, I hope. Probably the fact that I 
am married, and to you, is what she really objects 
to, and "doesn't like." I suppose if you were single, 
she would think you even handsomer]' 

"In a moment I saw I had made a fool of myself, 
by letting it slip out that she admired him; but I 
dexterously covered it up, as quickly as I could, by 
asking what would be the first stop in the Bocche, a 
question which completely drove the charming Hed- 
wig out of his mind; for, just then, as luck would 
have it, the Kotor sharply turned the point called 
Punta d'Ostro, with its ruinous, yellow-toned old 
castle, and we entered a narrow little channel. In 
another minute or so we were actually in the calm, 
lovely waters of the Bocche, which spread out before 
us like an inland sea. 

"The Bocche di Cattaro is really a chain of little 
lakes, joined together by narrow, tortuous channels, 
shut in by towering mountains, which rise from the 

3i5 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

water's edge like a Norwegian fjord. The Bocche, 
or 'mouths/ are almost thirteen miles long, and 
famous for magnificent scenery. As if to add a 
finishing touch to the whole picture, there were a 
couple of Austrian gunboats at anchor, and some 
snorting and puffing little toroedo boats were darting 
about. 

"The largest of the bays are Castelnuovo, Teodo, 
Perasto, and that of Cattaro. Every moment, as we 
went further into the Bocche, the more magnificent 
became the mountains. Our first port was Castel- 
nuovo — the name 'old castle' would be much more 
appropriate now. The little town is built above the 
ruined feudal castle of an ancient king of Bosnia. 
War and earthquakes have shaken down the fortifica- 
tions. John walked to the end of the point where 
the walls had fallen in a heap into the sea, but it was 
so warm in the sun I didn't care to go. An officer 
told me Castelnuovo itself, picturesque as is its 
situation, has nothing else worth seeing. A view of 
the little town perched on rocky cliffs, at the feet of 
a gaunt, towering mountain, with its ruined walls 
washed by the sea, is far more effective when ob- 
tained from the deck of a steamer, than from any 
other point of view. 

"We had hardly more than left Castelnuovo be- 
hind, when the Kotor made its way into the nar- 
rowest bocca of all — a channel connecting with a 

316 



GLIMPSES OF ST. GIACOMO AND LACROMA 

larger and finer basin, shaped like a trumpet, the 
'little end of the horn,' known here as 'le catene,' 
because it was defended by a chain in the fourteenth 
century, when Lewis the Great of Hungary (the one 
whose wife was that Queen Elizabeth who stole St. 
Simeon's finger) so ably protected with a heavy chain 
the Bocche from the Venetians. Exactly opposite 
the entrance of Le Catene slumbers the old city 
of Perasto, on the edge of the bay, on a rocky 
promontory separating the Bay of Risano from the 
Bay of Cattaro. The horn and the two bays form 
a rude capital T,' with Perasto exactly in the middle, 
at the top of the letter. 

"Two adorably picturesque little islands lie in front 
of Perasto, islands so tiny and charming that every- 
one asks their names the moment they set eyes on 
them. They seem to float on the waves like stray 
flowers from fairyland. One is the Scoglio St. 
Giorgio, on which is a wee little monastery, with 
elfin trees whispering within a garden whose walls 
are kissed by the sea. This monastery is one of the 
oldest of the Benedictine order. There are records 
still extant giving its history and the names of its 
bishops back to 1166. But the tiny island, with its 
cloister, lovely campanile, and dark green cypress, 
looking like long, slender fingers pointing upward to 
the blue sky, is doomed. The poor little island is 
gradually wasting away, being slowly but surely de- 

3i7 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

voured by the ever-hungry waves. As small as is 
the Rock of St. George, it has been fought for bitterly 
by Perasto and Cattaro. Finally, the Perastines as- 
sassinated the bishop and took forcible possession, 
and Venice permitted them to retain the ill-gotten 
church, but gave Cattaro a yearly sum of money as 
a quietus. 

"Even lovelier to me was the neighboring island of 
Santa Maria dello Scarpello. Why the Madonna of 
the Chisel, I do not know; for the story connected 
with it is of a fisherman, not a worker in stone. At 
daybreak, one summer morning, a Perasto fisherman 
in his boat, on being awakened suddenly, by hearing 
a celestial voice softly calling his name, in amaze- 
ment saw standing on the island a figure clad in 
shining raiment. It was the Blessed Virgin Mary 
robed in trailing garments of luminous white. 

" 'Make thou here for me a sanctuary, my son,' 
she commanded. So upon the island a chapel was 
duly erected, and for many years the pious Bocchesi 
delighted to add to the miniature reef shiploads of 
stones. To this day, on the twenty-second of July, 
the anniversary of the vision, a large boat heavily 
laden with stone goes from Perasto to the tiny 
island, with its wee white sanctuary — a picturesque 
church, with a pretty green cupola, and oddly shaped, 
ribbed dome, each surmounted by a shining cross, 
turned into gold by the sunshine. 

3i8 



GLIMPSES OF ST. GIACOMO AND LACROMA 

"Twice a year the church of the Madonna del 
Scarpdlo is adorned in festal array in honor of the 
Virgin. On August fifteenth is observed the Feast 
of the Assumption, and on September eighth is cele- 
brated the birth of the Blessed Virgin Mary. A 
quaint Bocchesi proverb says, 'Entre le due Madonne 
cade la pioggia.' Altho it is true that between the 
two festas 'falls the rain,' still on those days, rain or 
shine, the island is crowded with the Bocchesi in 
their Sunday best, and a multitude of votive gifts, 
accumulated all the rest of the year over in Perasto, 
are then publicly displayed. One of the church's great- 
est treasures is a painting of the Madonna, ascribed to 
the brush of St. Luke himself. It is lavishly deco- 
rated with silver and gold in the Byzantine style. 
At festas the picture of the Virgin is decked out with 
long earrings, golden chains, and a jeweled crown, 
like the garish adornments seen on icons in Greek 
churches. 

"Perasto is solemn, but lovely. Everything is 
falling to pieces, and there are whispers of 'death in 
life, the days that are no more.' There is a forlorn 
air about the deserted palaces; their exquisite Vene- 
tian balconies overgrown with vines, and their sculp- 
tured doorways, look ready to fall. There is a church 
which was intended to be a copy of Santa Maria 
della Saluta in Venice, but it was never finished, and 
now it never will be. Perasto's greatness has passed 

3i9 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

away, with the old nobility who once inhabited its 
palaces. Only a beggarly five hundred souls dwell in 
what was once a flourishing city. 

"We climbed the steep hill by the crumbling stone 
steps and peeped into many of the dismantled houses. 
Here and there a face would peer out from the window 
of some tumbledown abode, but the next moment it 
would disappear. I caught a view of a forlorn crea- 
ture standing dejectedly on the narrow steps. She 
looked at me listlessly, and never budged an inch, 
altho I know she must have noticed my camera. 

"Upon the shore a splendid old palazzo spoke elo- 
quently of the rare skill of its long-vanished archi- 
tect. It really grieved us to see such a lovely building 
falling to ruin. All was decay. Clumps of grass 
and spots of mold disfigured its sculptured stones. 
In the neglected garden creepers and weeds tried to 
cover with a green mantle the moldering walls, while 
a lone pomegranate tree bravely flaunted its flaming 
crimson blossoms above the grave of the long-dead 
flowers. 

"While we were still far up the heights, we heard 
the warning whistle of our steamer, and lost not a 
moment in scrambling down the wobbly steps. As 
we were making all haste along shore, we en- 
countered a squad of soldiers, and saw at once that 
they were 'raw recruits,' an awkward squad, about 
as different from the natty and trim Austrian troops 

320 



GLIMPSES OF ST. GIACOMO AND LACROMA 

as could well be imagined. Each man carried his gun 
as if he was afraid it would momentarily 'go off.' 
Probably the sergeant noticed we were smiling, for 
he suddenly gave an order, and away they trotted at 
double-quick. The moment they reached a safe dis- 
tance we gave way to our merriment; for they ran 
so awkwardly we were convulsed with laughter. 
John declared they were 'the worst ever!' and won- 
dered how long it would take the poor sergeant to 
lick his unpromising Perasto material into martial 
shape. 

"But the history of Perasto proves that her sturdy 
sons, in the past at least, were splendid fighters. 
Centuries ago the city received a banner from Venice 
for 'signal and most faithful services to the republic' 
It is said that when the Austrians came to take pos- 
session of Dalmatia, and troops appeared at Perasto, 
the sacred flag was 'buried with a requiem mass be- 
neath the high altar in the church of St. Nicolo, with 
all the sorrow seen at the burial of a beloved father.' 
This gonfalon is red, with a yellow border. In the cen- 
ter is seen the Lion of Saint Mark, ready to defend 
the Cross rising from the sea, at whose foot he 
stands on guard. The emblem has been resurrected 
from its tomb, and, together with captured swords 
and other Turkish trophies, is sacredly preserved in 
the museum. Altho Perasto now belongs to Aus- 
tria, the eyes of her citizens brighten as they re- 

321 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

count the story of her glorious part, and they 
proudly show you the Fedelissima Gonfaloniera, which 
earned for their city the honored and much vaunted 
title, 'Most Faithful Banner.' 

"Risano is a rather ordinary small hill town, but 
we enjoyed our stop there. The first thing which 
caught my eye was a little church a few hundred 
feet back from the shore. A line had been attached 
to the cross on the tiny pointed steeple, and each end 
staked to the ground. From it fluttered innumerable 
little flags, giving the church exactly the look of a 
gaily decorated ship. As we walked along the strip 
of shore, we came to several booths in course of 
construction which were being made ready for the 
festa. 

"It looked quite homelike to see a little place 
where 'You t'row a ring on de knives, and get er 
segar! Come on gents, try yer luck! T'ree chances 
fer er nickel — only five cents ! ' Penknives, booth, 
rings, even the 'segars,' looked as if they should have 
been in a booth on the sands of Coney Island, in- 
stead of on the shore of the Bocche. A sign in 
Croatian proved to us that we were far, very far, 
from home. I wanted to copy the marvelous hiero- 
glyphics, but John wouldn't let me — for he said it 
would take me too long. But, when he wasn't look- 
ing, I put down the word for 'beer.' I'm not par- 
ticularly fond of the beverage, but I'm happy to say 

322 




PERASTO 

CITY FROM THE EAST 
MY GIRL AND HER FATHER 



GLIMPSES OF ST. GIACOMO AND LACROMA 

that, poor as the beer is here, it is not as bad as the 
word for it looks : 




"Further along the shore we came to a paved 
square, shaded by fine old trees. A lot of picturesque 
men were lounging around, smoking and discussing 
the Balkan war, but at sight of us they lost all in- 
terest in everything else. All appeared to be afraid 
of the camera, and I couldn't get a picture. The 
moment I pointed my kodak in their direction they 
turned away. Among the whole crowd of idlers, not 
a single woman was to be seen. The weaker sex 
were, no doubt, toiling in the blazing sun, while their 
lords were enjoying themselves in the shady square. 

"Not in Italy or Greece did we ever encounter 
more goats than in our walk in Risano- — nice, sociable 
goats, the lacteal portion of their anatomy tied up 
in little black bags. I never saw anything more 
funny than this herd of goats parading along shore 
in solemn procession, each with its udder incased 
in a covering apparently made of black cambric. I 
suppose the idea was to make the goat's milk 'germ- 
proof,' but the bags were so dirty, the method couldn't 
have been very efficacious. 

"As in other towns, Risano runs up the hill. We 
saw a commodious-looking hotel nearing completion 

323 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

on the heights, to which a newly made carriage-road 
zigzagged up, but went no further. All Risano is a 
collection of unlovely, squalid houses perched on the 
hillside, one above another, and reached by dark and 
crooked alleys, with a succession of steep and narrow 
steps. It is hard to understand why there is any 
necessity for a hotel. Risano, like Castelnuovo, has 
nothing but a superb situation to commend it. 

"The greatest curiosity in all this region is the 
waterfall of Sopoti, near Risano. Dalmatia is almost 
waterless, for the limestone rocks drink the water up 
like a sponge. Sometimes the water, after disap- 
pearing at one place, gushes out again miles away, 
bursting from some cleft, or cavern, like a huge foun- 
tain. The 'Sopoti' is an intermittent waterfall. 
When it ceases to flow, which is in the dry season, 
the cave out of which the torrent comes 'rushing' 
may be entered for quite a distance. From the Kotor 
we could see the mouth of the cave, in which is sup- 
posed to reside a great dragon. He has an enormous 
diamond, with which he constantly amuses himself by 
rolling it about, making a noise like thunder. His 
jewel will be valued by the ton, I should imagine, 
instead of by carats, when it is taken from the 
monster. The story goes that two bold men, brothers, 
and natives of Risano, once took a boat and went to 
the cavern to explore it, in order to secure possession, 
if possible, of this fabulous gem. One brother re- 

324 



GLIMPSES OF ST. GIACOMO AND LACROMA 

mained outside, holding on to the end of the rope 
fastened to the boat in which his more intrepid com- 
panion was to venture on his perilous voyage of dis- 
covery. After some time had elapsed, and the brother 
who had entered the cavern had failed to give the 
signal agreed upon, his more prudent brother, be- 
coming alarmed, pulled at the rope and, to his horror, 
discovered it hung slack in his hand. There was no 
longer a boat attached to it. To this day, the lost skiff 
has never been found, and the fate of the venturesome 
explorer remains shrouded in mystery. 

"The story is all right, but I'm sorry we had to get 
it from the Pfaffen winkle; I dislike her so much. Of 
all things, I despise a vain, flirtatious creature, who 
thinks she is 'it.' You can see at a glance that she 
is conceited enough to imagine she is quite irre- 
sistible. The von Karfenbergs, and the lovely Hed- 
wig, are going to the same hotel as we at Cat- 
taro. As there is only one decent hostelry in the 
place, I suppose it can't be helped; but the way that 
insufferable creature makes eyes at John is disgust- 
ing! She is actually 'mushy,' and sickening. She 
gazes at him as if she would like to eat him; and he 
likes it — I know he does, altho he 'pooh-poohed' 
when I mentioned it to him. I simply don't dare 
say a word about the minx, for, somehow or other, 
he has gotten the absurd notion into his head that 
I am jealous of her. Of course, he just says so to 

325 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

tease me; for he knows very well I would hardly be 
jealous of such a lump of dough! 

"To tell the truth, I have kept my eye upon the 
fair Hedwig. I've been so busy nipping her little 
attempts in the bud I have absolutely forgotten all 
about that horrible Bela man. For this much I am 
devoutly thankful! Poor, dear John is so courteous 
and Chesterfieldian, he is utterly unsophisticated in 
the hands of a sly, bold, designing creature like the 
Pfaffenwinkle. I feel it is my duty as a wife to 
protect him from her. She may fool him, and make 
him think she is 'merely being a little polite,' but I 
have eyes in my head, and ears, too, thank good- 
ness. Altho I'm not worrying now about meeting 
that man, as I once did, still I mean to ease my 
conscience as I promised myself I would. I'm de- 
termined to let John read my diary — so he will know 
everything. I want to do it before we get to Cattaro 
— and I will — if I can ever get him off for a minute 
where that bold-faced minx can't make eyes at him." 



326 



XVII 

CATTARO: THE DUOMO, ST. LUKA, AND A 
DISGUSTED AMERICAN 

Cattaro is the last chapter in my story of Dal- 
matia! It is well called the "frontier where the West 
merges into, and is absorbed by, the East." The 
Oriental touch, first noticed in Zara, but so insig- 
nificantly as to be hardly noticeable, becomes by de- 
grees the predominant coloring of the picture. At 
Cattaro we found ourselves in the very vestibule of 
the Orient, with all its Levantine garishness. 

The Bocche di Cattaro took its original name from 
the ancient city of Rhizon, of which the present little 
town of Risano alone remains. Pliny, Strabo, and 
other ancient writers, mention the city, which had the 
dubious honor of receiving the defeated amazon, 
Queen Teuta, who retired to Rhizon with her shat- 
tered forces after her crushing defeat by the Romans 
some two hundred and twenty-nine years before 
Christ. About a century later, Rhizon, or Rhizinium, 
voluntarily bowed submissively to Rome, and from 
the day of its subjugation, sank into the quicksand 
of oblivion. From that time to this it has been 
lost sight of by the world. Not so Cattaro, at the 

327 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

far end of the innermost of the bays. In ancient 
times it was known as Ascrivium, and as early as 
the ninth century boasted "fine buildings." Unfor- 
tunately, but little of the Roman period remains. 
Scarcely a fragment exists of that proud city, which 
had fine buildings so long ago — with the exception 
of a memorial to a young girl and her teacher, which 
can be seen encrusted in the walls of the squat and 
hideous clock-tower. 

Unlike Risano, Cattaro has played a leading part 
in the drama of the Bocche. It is possible that it 
may yet become an arena in which Austria and the 
allies of Servia will make history. 

The whole Bocche is famous for its wild scenery, but 
no part of it compares with Cattaro, surrounded as 
it is by mountains which soar aloft as superbly as 
those of any Norwegian fjord. The mountains 
called Montenegro are not black, but a cruel, dull, 
cold gray. Gaunt and bare, they rise majestically 
from the smiling blue waters of the bay, to the blue 
and smiling sky above. 

To the right of the town of Cattaro is the Lovc'en, 
or Monte Sella as it is also called. It hangs threaten- 
ingly over the city like a frowning demon awaiting 
an opportune moment to pounce upon and devour 
the frightened little town crouching at its feet. The 
city is as somber and shadowed as a Swiss village in 
a narrow mountain pass. Constantine — the born-in- 

328 



THE DUOMO AND ST. LUKA 

the-purple one — described Cattaro as "so shut in by 
towering mountains of rock that the sun never 
reaches it except in midsummer." This is an ancient 
fairy-tale. Constantine was simply drawing the long 
bow, to make his account "interesting reading." 
Altho the winters are long and dreary, on every fair 
day Old Sol takes a peep, at least, into the rock- 
bound city to see what is going on. 

The very moment your foot touches the broad 
marina attention is fixt on the great amphitheater of 
stupendous rock which engulfs the city. Uncon- 
sciously your eyes are riveted on the mountains, and 
your interest centers on the long line of fortifications 
climbing up the Lovcen to the ancient castle- fort 
crowning the top of the ravine, which splits the rock 
in two; a fort which reminds you of a wild bird's 
aerie built on a lofty crag. 

A new road constructed by the Austrians is a 
splendid feat of modern engineering. It now re- 
places the perilously steep and rough foot-path in 
use for centuries by peasants in their long journeys 
over the mountains. "The Ladder of Cattaro" is the 
name given to this new road. It mounts the steep 
side of the Lovcen, lurching from side to side like a 
drunken man; without rest, it staggers onward and 
upward, passing the castle and zigzagging its weary 
way over the wilderness of rock beyond. Crossing 
the Austrian frontier, the road is continued over 

329 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

stony wastes; across hills and hummocks, past stray 
little stone huts with tiny patches of flinty sterile soil, 
to the capital of Montenegro, Cetinje, "The City in 
the Sky." 

The market at Cattaro — or bazaar, as I should call 
it — is held upon the broad, well-paved quay. Here 
almost any morning may be seen a heterogeneous 
collection of stale-looking vegetables, scrawny chick- 
ens, and half-starved little pigs, which constituted 
the bulk of the produce offered for sale. I feel quite 
sure there is no Board of Health in Cattaro. If 
there is, the bazaar is most shamefully neglected. 
Nowhere have I ever seen more flies or dirt and refuse 
of all kinds lying about than in this uncleanly, and 
unprepossessing market. And never did the wares on 
a market-stall, by their appearance, speak more elo- 
quently of the terrible battle waged to raise some- 
thing on arid land, "which grows nothing but rocks !" 

The market people were as unlovely looking as 
their stock. Many of them were wrinkled old hags, 
women who were not so old in years, as they were 
broken and aged by lives of unceasing toil. These 
poor Montenegrin women, with faces deeply lined 
with care, know only the perpetual "struggle for 
existence." They come to Cattaro from far over the 
mountains. They arise long before daybreak and 
gather together their bags of potatoes, sacks of 
onions, and heavy baskets of sickly green cabbages. 

33o 



THE DUOMO AND ST. LUKA 

Then, having their burden strapped firmly to their 
backs, straining under their heavy loads, they begin 
their long journey on foot over and down the moun- 
tains to the market quay of the town, many miles 
away. All day long, in the heat and glare, they 
stand by their stalls, offering unceasingly their wares 
for sale, and when, at last, the day is over, with their 
scant earnings they purchase the flour or stores they 
need, and once more, with a new burden strapped to 
their tired backs, begin the arduous task of climbing 
and crossing the bleak and relentless mountains. 

These mountains are harsh and cruel; hard and 
rough, like the scowling creature who kicks savagely 
in the stomach with his heels the poor little stagger- 
ing brute he bestrides, hurling curses for being slow, 
quite indiscriminately, first at the small donkey, and 
then at his other "beast of burden" — the poor woman 
who uncomplainingly toils up the mountain behind 
him. The woman's aching back is bent double with 
the heavy load she carries, as she stumbles along 
wearily in the night, after her lord and his steed. 

Cattaro is full of these Montenegrin "warriors" 
and their ever-toiling slaves. You can always dis- 
tinguish the subjects of King Nicholas. By law 
they are obliged to appear in the national dress. 
Both women and men seem to wear the near-white 
heavy woolen coat, cut like a Russian Cossack's. 
Those worn by the women usually have no sleeves, 

33i 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

while the men wear with their's a gay red sash, tied 
about their waists. Both sexes wear the coat over 
the usual Dalmatian costume, with its gaily braided 
jacket. The men affect the regulation, enormously 
full, blue trousers. The caps of Montenegrins are 
exactly like the ordinary miniature red-topped Dal- 
matian polo cap, only upon the crowns are half -circles 
in gold thread, with the initials of the "Gaspodar" — 
The Master, as Petrovic Njegos (King Nicholas I.) 
is known to his people. Of course, the women, while 
they wear the same little caps, do not have them 
adorned with the cipher of the sovereign, for they are 
not subjects — except of masculine contempt. 

We learned that no Montenegrin considers him- 
self fully "drest" without his "gun"; in fact, there 
is a law punishing him if he leaves his domicile un- 
armed. Without his knives, revolver, and yataghan, 
he is not a man — only "a poor, contemptible creature, 
little better than a female." No wonder that, with 
a training which has for its only end and aim the 
making of "fighters," the Montenegrins are both 
fierce and cruel, delighting in bloodshed, and scorn- 
ing all work as beneath the dignity of men. 

I must confess that, while admitting the bravery 
of the big, hulking warriors who lounged on the 
quay, and strutted about the streets of Cattaro, I 
did not like them. They all seemed to have an air 
of impudent bravado. They stared at us brazenly, 

33* 



THE DUOMO AND ST. LUKA 

with a mocking insolence in their piercing black eyes, 
which was only partially veiled. I suppose the fact 
that John held the umbrella over me to protect me 
from the blazing sun must have seemed highly amus- 
ing to these uncouth barbarians — who look upon all 
women as simply "chattels." 

Many times at Cattaro we came face to face with 
these sturdy subjects of King Nicholas, who delight 
to idle away their time, lounging about, smoking and 
gossiping. We could tell them from the other 
Bocchesi, if not by their long, whitish coats and 
initialed caps, then by the huge woolen scarfs they 
wore with one end thrown rakishly over the shoulder. 
The other end was permitted to sweep the ground, 
the long fringe gathering up dust and dirt as the 
warrior, with shoulders thrown back and chin in the 
air, swaggered along, looking "anxious for trouble," 
as John declared. 

Not without cause, knowing only too well the na- 
tional characteristics of the people with whom she 
has to deal, the Austrian Government compels the 
Montenegrins to leave their arsenal of knives and 
pistols at the frontier, before entering her territory — 
a wise precaution in a land where often the slightest 
difference of opinion may result in bloodshed. 

While Cattaro is quaint and interesting, I must 
admit that to me it did not compare with either Zara 
or Traii, let alone historic Spalato and medieval Ra- 

333 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

gusa. The great earthquake was as severe here as 
at Ragusa, but Cattaro never could have possest more 
than a small part of the picturesque charm of her 
neighbor. The city walls were shattered by the 
quake, altho they had resisted again and again the 
attacks of both Venetians and Turks. They have 
been rebuilt, and are said to be twenty-eight feet high 
and correspondingly thick. 

Austria seems fully cognizant of the important 
position occupied by Cattaro in any Balkan em- 
broglio. The surrounding mountains fairly bristle 
with batteries and are honeycombed with concealed 
cannons. Every available spot is strongly fortified. 
Guns are to be found everywhere; not pointed out 
toward an enemy who may come by sea, but bat- 
teries to be trained upon an enemy who comes by 
land, an enemy who lies ever in wait, watching on 
the mountain top, a wily enemy wearing not only a 
Cossack's coat, the livery of his real master, but 
armed with the weapons he has provided. 

It was a novel experience to feel a martial tension 
in the air. I delighted to look hard at everything, 
for the moment I did, up would suddenly pop a man 
in uniform, and, ten to one, armed with a field- 
glass, with which he would narrowly scan us. I an- 
noyed John greatly, for he realized by my curiosity 
about things which did not concern us that I might 
get into endless trouble. But, I confess, I found it 

334 




o % 

5 s 



THE DUOMO AND ST. LUKA 

delightfully exciting to feel I was watched — that is, 
as long as the man in uniform was at a safe distance, 
and armed only with a spy-glass. 

The city gates are closed promptly every evening 
at nine o'clock. Fortunately, the Porta Marina is 
left open for some time longer, for the quay is less 
stifling than places within the walls. It was on this 
very marina that Danilo II., the former "Gaspodar" 
of Montenegro, an uncle of the present king, who 
succeeded him, was assassinated, in i860. The Porta 
Marina is presided over by a crestfallen Venetian 
Lion, which has a shamefaced look quite out of keep- 
ing with his wings and book. Possibly his humilia- 
tion may be accounted for by the fact that, for ex- 
actly a century, over his once indomitable head have 
stood two horrible griffins, holding up brazenly for 
all the world to see the arms of Austria. 

The streets of the city are narrow and dark little 
alleyways, which twist and turn amazingly. The 
houses are small and built of stone, with tiny slits 
for windows and huge chimneys quite out of all 
proportion to their sizes. They seem to have been 
set down higgledy-piggledy, without any order or 
plan, except that here and there we came upon a 
small paved square, with dwellings built round it — 
squares which reminded us of small Venetian campos. 

The duomo has two seventeenth century towers 
flanking the west facade, but the original campanili 

335 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

were wrecked by the earthquake, which also damaged 
the front of the duomo, so that it had to be taken 
down and rebuilt. The entrance is under a single 
round arch, which connects the towers, built out in 
front of the church, and so forms a sort of arched 
porch or vestibule. This arched portico has white- 
washed walls, and it is paved with stone, and inclosed 
with a balustrade. The top of the porch is finished 
with a similar stone railing. From this balcony, a 
splendid view of the big rose window over the en- 
trance is obtained. It is Gothic, but has Renaissance 
trimmings, which rather spoil its effectiveness. While, 
more ornate, in my opinion, it is not nearly so hand- 
some as the much plainer rose window in Zara's 
duomo. To be frank, we both thought the whole 
Cathedral of St. Trifone not only unattractive, but 
actually ugly. The effect of the square, stone, twin 
towers is unpleasing, for while pierced with the same 
windows, and identical in size and plan, the tower 
to the right is adorned with a clean, fresh-faced 
modern timepiece, and above it the tower is topped 
with a cupola with round arches, in which, under the 
pointed tiled roof, hangs a chime of bells, while its 
poor neighbor has to rest content with neither clock 
nor bells, and is finished off with a squat top, utterly 
unlike its airy-looking, more attractive, neighbor. 

St. Trifone is the patron saint of Cattaro, and oc- 
cupies the same important position in the city's his- 

336 



THE DUOMO AND ST. LUKA 

tory as good St. Biagio in Ragusa's; but he is not so 
much in evidence, nor does he beam down upon you 
with a welcoming smile from the city's portals. The 
original cathedral was constructed for the purpose of 
holding St. Trif one's remains, which were secured 
for a financial consideration, from two Venetians 
more mercenary than pious. It appears that the same 
old "terrible gale" blew a Venetian ship containing 
these precious bones into the harbor of Cattaro. A 
public-spirited citizen, hearing of the windfall, ap- 
proached the owners of the sacred remains and ex- 
changed his worldly wealth for the more precious 
relics, which he then — in 1809 a.d. — presented to 
the city. 

In plan the duomo is similar to the usual Roman 
basilica, having nave and side isles. While the in- 
terior is lofty, it is not particularly impressive. The 
Roman columns have antique capitals, but many of 
them have been patched up crudely with common 
"stucco." But St. Trif one has one thing which ex- 
cited our delighted attention — the carved canopy over 
the high altar. The baldacchino, or "ciborio," is 
really magnificent. The altar is raised slightly above 
the floor level by two steps, and the lovely canopy is 
supported by four slender red marble columns, with 
fine Byzantine capitals, on which rest the architrave, 
or lintel. On all sides, except the back, this shows 
a number of carved bas-reliefs, depicting scenes in 

337 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

the life of St. Trifone. Charming little twin columns 
with trefoiled arches support the towering canopy in 
three stories, with sloping roofs, diminishing in size 
to the domed cupola at the top, which has only four 
colonnettes, but is surmounted by a fine golden angel, 
with trailing garments and outspread wings. The 
angel's flat halo rests on her curling locks very much 
as if it were an Easter hat. Between the rear 
columns, back of the altar, is a reredos, or "pala," of 
silver-gilt. This, too, shows numerous saints in three 
horizontal rows. The most interesting of these is the 
figure of St. Trifone, occupying the central and 
larger space, in the middle panel. The figure of the 
saint is shown holding a little model of his duomo, 
as it was before the earthquake. It is seen to have 
the same twin towers, but they were both finished 
with blunt spires. There is no arched vestibule — 
for that was not added until much later. 

The silver-gilt screen back of the altar is sup- 
posed to be as old as the baldacchino itself, which, 
according to Gelcich, was "rebuilt and made splendid 
with precious marbles and rich materials," in 1362. 
While this is not of surprizing antiquity, it is really 
marvelous to see how this airy, slender, and almost 
top-heavy canopy has survived the terrible quake 
which demolished the great stone towers, and so 
badly damaged the fagade of the duomo that the 
stones of the rose window had to be reset. 

338 



THE DUOMO AND ST. LUKA 

The treasury of St. Trifone contains a number of 
head, arm, and foot reliquaries. In a sixteenth cen- 
tury silver receptacle is a wooden coffin in which is 
said to rest the torso of the patron saint. His head 
is honored by a reliquary of its own, composed of 
gold and enamel, and sets on an exquisitely deco- 
rated base. The shape of the reliquary, with its 
domed top, and the embellished base which holds it, 
immediately suggested to my mind a nice, big, nut- 
cake on a lavishly decorated cake-stand. The foot 
of St. Trifone is also provided with a gold case orna- 
mented with fine scroll-work in gold and enamel. 

Another interesting object in the treasury is an 
old cross, fashioned out of a number of little bags, 
each containing a relic, the bags being fastened to a 
frame in the shape of a cross. It has a wooden top, 
with little sliding covers over each compartment. 
Any particular relic may be viewed by simply sliding 
back the proper lid. This cross is said to be the 
identical one used to bless the army which so 
miraculously helped to save Vienna, in 1683 — that vic- 
torious army which, owing to the timely arrival of 
John Sobieski and his Polish forces, helped to save 
Europe itself by driving back the, till then, invincible 
Turk. 

The Greek church of St. Luka occupies a little 
campo in the middle of the town. It has the regula- 
tion two-story Greek bell-cot, in which always hang 

339 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

two bells, side by side, with a third bell above them. 
It is a plain, almost ugly, little church on the out- 
side, and not much more prepossessing within. On 
entering, we found it dark and somber. There were 
a number of worshipers, the majority of whom were 
women, who knelt upon the stone floor and made as 
many genuflections as a Moslem at his devotions. 
As the floor was none too clean, and as they con- 
tinually bowed and kissed it fervently, it was a re- 
pugnant sight. The church has no high altar; the 
altar's normal place being occupied by a large picture, 
a painting lavishly embellished with silver and gold. 
The icon showed the Virgin and Child, in a massive 
frame covered with glass, but so blurred and filthy it 
was almost impossible to see the figures under it. 
A number of dirty, rough-looking men, and dowdy, 
disheveled women, stood or knelt in prayer about 
the icon. Every few moments one or the other of 
them would come up and kiss the picture, again and 
again, after having made the sign of the cross three 
or four times. After watching their performance, 
we no longer wondered at its smudgy condition. 
John declared there could be nothing in "the germ 
theory," or Greek church devotees would never es- 
cape catching all "the diseases born of dirt" in the 
entire Bocchesi calendar. 

We saw so much to disgust us that we were glad 
to escape from St. Luka, and to leave behind us the 

340 




CATTARO 

DALMATIAN GROUP 
MARKET ON THE MARINA 



THE DUOMO AND ST. LUKA 

gloomy, fetid church, smelling of stale incense and 
its squalid worshipers. It was delightful to step out- 
side once more into the radiant sunshine and fresh 
morning air. We heard martial music and soon 
saw a brass band coming toward us and a company 
of well-drilled Austrian soldiers, led by an enormously 
tall, fine-looking young captain, whose smiling glance 
met ours. 

Like two children, we laughingly fell in behind the 
crowd which followed in the wake of the soldiers. 
But on the way to the Piazza, or wherever they were 
going, I espied a splendid and most elaborately 
wrought-iron pump, which I could not resist. It was 
so artistic I simply had to stop and examine it. The 
massive handle was tied down with rope, so I 
imagine the pump must have been out of repair. I 
could not even guess what was its approximate date. 
Longing to know something about it, I inquired its 
history from a woman I saw standing with staring 
eyes and arms akimbo in the door of a nearby 
house. Letting me repeat my question many times, 
she contented herself at last by slowly shaking her 
head, nodding a weak negative, while with open 
mouth she kept her eyes fixt upon us, as if we were 
strange, wild specimens of humanity such as she had 
never encountered before. 

With one last parting look at the quaint pump, we 
made haste to catch up with the band, but the last 

34i 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

echoes of the martial strains had died away. On 
reaching the Piazza, we found it deserted. Not a 
soldier was in sight. We saw only the usual crowd 
of lounging Montenegrins and Bocchesi, basking idly 
in the sunshine. 

"The moment we set foot in Cattaro," according 
to the diary, "we discovered it was hot and stifling. 
Seeing there was a fine, big hotel outside the walls 
on the splendid broad marina, I determined to have 
John get a room there. A cafe was seen on the 
ground floor, and nice, comfortable-looking rooms 
above, with large windows; a very necessary adjunct, 
for we knew the night would be breathless. We had 
been informed by the von Karfenbergs that there was 
only one first-class hotel in Cattaro, and that we had 
better lose no time in securing accommodations, as 
most bookings were made in advance. 'Let them go 
into the stuffy little town, to a stifling hotel, if they 
want to,' I emphatically declared to John. 'We will get 
a room at this nice, breezy place on the quay.' 

"'But how do you know it is a hotel?' he asked 
dubiously. Tt doesn't say so. That cafe sign belongs 
only to the first floor and the garden.' (Sometimes 
I feel sorry for John — he is so stupid. ) 

" Ts it likely that those rooms above the restaurant 
would be anything else? I do not believe even these 
Cattaro people would be idiotic enough to expect 

342 



THE DUOMO AND ST. LUKA 

visitors to swelter inside the town, when they have 
such big, airy rooms right on the water!' 

"But it is a good thing I didn't say any more — 
for I was wrong ! It wasn't a hotel at all. The crazy 
Croatians used the upper floors as offices. So there 
was nothing to do but to enter the frowning gate to the 
hot city, and go as quickly as we could to 'the only 
good hotel.' It proved to be a particularly poor one, 
and already crowded to the doors. 

"After toiling up to the top of the house, we were 
shown into a darkened chamber, in which it was 
necessary for the landlady to light a candle, in order 
to show us the room. It wasn't yet dark, so I went 
over and pushed open the window shutters. As I did 
so, they grazed the blank stone wall of the house 
opposite. I positively refused to consider trying to 
sleep in such a dark, airless dungeon on a hot sum- 
mer night. The woman gave an expressive shrug, 
and said, in very bad French, or bad German — I for- 
get which — but I only remember it was very bad, for 
it was even worse than ours — 'You will have to take 
it. There is nothing better. This is the "only good 
hotel." ' 

"At that, I lost all patience. 'John,' I cried, 'if 
this is the only good hotel, for heaven's sake let's 
try a bad one! Get me a room in a boarding-house, 
or anywhere, so there is a window, a real window, 
and something to breathe!' 

343 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

"Never shall I forget my experience in that 'only 
good hotel' in Cattaro. John left me to look out 
for the two suitcases and 'the dear box/ the two 
Dienstmanner and their two helpers, while he sped 
down three flights of stairs with a third 'assistant 
porter' to see 'a nice room, with a nice window, in a 
nice home,' which he promised to show him. The 
minute John was gone, the obsequious, smiling 
matron changed to a frowning dragon, who looked 
as if she would annihilate me with a glance. But I 
was too tired and cross to care whether she scowled 
at me or not. 

"I thought John would never come back! I stood 
first on one foot and then on the other, so weary 
and tired I could hardly hold up my head. The 
Dienstmanner talked in Croatian among themselves 
and with the glowering landlady. I saw she was 
furiously indignant because she had not been able to 
convince 'that stubborn little American minx' (as I 
suppose she called me) that nothing better could be 
had than a room in the Waldorf-Astoria of Cattaro. 
She stood glaring at me, with her hands on her hips, 
while she poured forth a torrent of burring words 
which snapt and sputtered like the sparks flying 
from a dynamo. 

"I'm sure I never felt more miserable in my life. 
I've no doubt the crowd suspected John had deserted 
me, and that I would suddenly seize the suitcases and 

344 



THE DUOMO AND ST. LUKA 

box and try to escape, without paying the Dienst- 
manner. It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't a 
penny with me, and that I didn't have an idea where 
John had gone, or with whom. I knew I could not 
speak one word of the Slavic tongue, and very little 
of anything else but English — and here ancient Greek 
would have done quite as well as English. I got so 
frightened I dropt the umbrella. In picking it up, I 
let fall my handbag, and after almost breaking my 
back, while all those louts looked at me, what did I 
do but drop my coat! Then they all guffawed, and 
I got so mad I forgot my fright. I told them, in 
plain English, that if they hadn't been the yokels they 
were, they would have some manners. 

"I'm sure I do not know what I should have done 
if a nice man, apparently a German Jew, had not 
come to my assistance. He was evidently a tourist, 
and, undoubtedly, a gentleman. I first noticed him 
in the hall, bending over a trunk which stood outside 
the room he occupied with his family. I knew he 
was a nice man, for he was neatly packing his wife's 
gowns. He did it so deftly, I felt sure he was a well- 
trained husband, and surmised that feminine apparel 
must have been his business, or he never could have 
packed so well. After a while I saw he noticed me. 
On going into his room for another armful of things, 
he returned, carrying a chair, which he most politely 
said, in French, was 'at mademoiselle's disposal.' I 

345 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

sank into it most gratefully, thanking him with the 
best French I could muster. 

"What a funny sight we all must have made! I, 
sitting on a stiff-backed chair, beside the trunks, in 
which the nice husband was packing lingerie and 
dainty dresses; the landlady, near by, on the landing, 
looking like a thunder-cloud; while, strewn around, 
was our baggage, with the four Dienstmdnner trailing 
off down the steps below. Excepting the packer's, 
all eyes were fixt on me, that I should not 'make off' 
without paying what was due for carrying the lug- 
gage from the steamer to 'the only good hotel.' 

" 'Did you get me a room ?' I asked, eagerly, the 
very moment the top of John's head appeared in 
sight. 

" 'No, I didn't,' he answered, shortly. 

" 'Well, why didn't you ? You know very well I 
won't stay here.' 

" 'You wouldn't ask why, if you had seen the 
place. Our idea of "nice," and this fellow's, are de- 
cidedly different !' There was a weary and dis- 
heartened tone in John's voice, which made me feel 
ashamed of myself for being so hard to suit. He 
told me he had gone to three different places, all so 
squalid and dirty he wouldn't think of letting me 
stop at any of them. So, at once, I forgot to be 
cross, and said I'd sleep in the Piazza or anywhere, 
if he'd take me away from 'the dragon.' 

346 



THE DUOMO AND ST. LUKA 

"At last we started once more on our travels, fol- 
lowed down the stairs, by our whole retinue. I 
breathed a fervent prayer of thankfulness when we 
escaped from the place, without coming face to face 
with those people from the steamer. I'm sure if we 
had met the Pfaffenwinkle she would have smiled, 
and if she had, I wouldn't answer for what I might 
have done! 'But we got away safely,' as John 
truthfully exprest it. Round about Cattaro we 
trailed, going through what seemed to me an endless 
labyrinth of narrow, shabby, ill-lighted alleyways. 
The real Dienstmann went in front, carrying the big 
black patent-leather suitcase, all pasted up with for- 
eign labels, and John walked beside him. Following 
them was another Dienstmann with the other suitcase ; 
then came two men carrying the 'dear box,' and two 
pretending to help them. I followed in their wake, 
and after me, bringing up the rear, came the 'fourth 
assistant,' carrying my coat and the umbrella, which, 
in spite of all my objections, he held on to, for the 
sake of earning his tip. 

"I knew we made a ridiculous sight, and I didn't 
wonder that people we met looked after us with open 
mouths. I was simply too tired and weary to care. 
After turning every corner we came to, we landed 
up against a blank wall, on which was fastened a 
quaint, old-fashioned iron lamp, in which dimly 
burned a flickering light. It reminded me of Venice. 

347 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

The dingy little alleyway looked exactly like one of 
the cute little calli I adore, so I became amiable at 
once. Another step brought us to an opening in the 
wall, and we soon noticed some steps under a trellis, 
leading into a garden. After several more steps, 
and twists and turns, lo! we were actually in Hotel 
Graz, 'the second-best hotel in Cattaro.' 

"Never will I forget it! It was the oddest, most 
jumbled-up, funniest little place I ever was in and, 
for Cattaro, remarkably clean. Our room had two 
big windows, which looked down on a tiny strip of 
garden below, and on the row of tables set out under 
a grapevine, trained with patient care over a rudely 
improvised arbor, a la Biergarten. 

"The garden must have been popular, for far into 
the night a crowd of chattering Austrian soldiers, 
Croatians, and other Bocchesi, sat under our windows 
drinking beer, and eating sauerkraut and Wiener- 
wursts of enormous dimensions. They made so 
much noise I thought at first they were quarreling, 
and when I saw one of the rough-looking creatures 
begin to finger the handle of the revolver in his 
cummerbund, I got terribly nervous. But John said 
not to mind ; it was nothing. He explained that these 
people play with their guns, like a Moslem with his 
beads, and a Frenchman with his mustache. And he 
was right, for it all ended amicably, and at last they 
went away together. We, indeed, breathed a sigh 

348 



THE DUOMO AND ST. LUKA 

of relief when the last customers took themselves 
off, for they clattered their dishes, and their harsh 
voices and sputtering Croatian tongues 'murdered 
sleep.' 

"The very first thing I noticed when I put my 
head out of the window in the morning was the 
unique house opposite. It was unique even for 
Cattaro. I took a picture of its marvelous chimneys 
before I had finished doing my hair, because the 
light was getting away and becoming worse and 
worse every minute. 

"Our room by daylight proved to be quite as 
unique as the house across the way — I can not call 
this way a street. It was so typically Cattarean 
that I made a sketch of it, so that I can remember 
all it contained. It was a large room, and the floor- 
covering didn't cover it; for there were just two wee 
strips of faded carpet; one by each little wooden bed, 
and a long piece of oilcloth stretched from the door 
to the washstand, like church carpet in an isle leading 
to the altar. As I said, the beds were of wood, and, 
from the way they felt, we thought the pillows were 
of wood, too. The wall paper was a strong blue, with 
marvelously stiff and hideous yellow rosettes, at both 
ends of long and broad squirming bands of green. 
I studied the design carefully, to ascertain if it was 
intended to represent a conventional rose piece, or, 
as John wickedly suggested, some new and terrifying 

349 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

specimen of the animal kingdom which had recently 
been discovered in one of the famous caverns about 
here. As these double-headed creatures swarmed 
all over the walls, I thought he was cruel to suggest 
such an idea. 

"Between our windows was an enormous wash- 
stand, with two Brobdingnagian basins containing 
huge pitchers, which John called 'double-deckers.' 
He asked me if the basins were to be used as bath- 
tubs, they were so big. On the wall hung a gaily 
colored towel-rack, worked in cross-stitch, showing 
two fierce-looking dogs, with their names neatly 
worked under them, 'Castor' and 'Sultan.' Straight 
and prim against the wall sat little night-stands be- 
side the beds, each with a pewter candlestick, glass 
match-box, a large carafe of water, and a thick glass. 
We might lack some things at Hotel Graz, but never 
water. 

"It was a gaunt, bare-looking room, notwithstand- 
ing all the stuff which was in it. A 'whatnot' stood 
against the wall near the door. Its shelves were 
covered with shells, bead-work castles, cups and 
saucers, wax flowers under a bell glass, china vases, 
a glass bird, and a conglomeration of other useless 
things some people treasure. 

"Close by stood a sofa, a hard, unyielding sofa, 
which John suggested must be stuffed with brick- 
bats. It was covered with a faded cotton cover, with 

350 



THE DUOMO AND ST. LUKA 

birds and flowers of once gorgeous coloring, but now 
subdued in tone to a reddish brown. On the walls 
hung several pictures, with most lugubrious subjects. 
The chromo over my bed depicted a Spanish ven- 
detta, with a gory paramour lying stretched out, ap- 
parently dead, before a haughty don, with a weeping 
woman at his feet. Over John's bed hung a gory bull- 
fight; so there was small choice as regards the 
amount of red fluid. Like Goliath's head, in 'Helen's 
Babies,' both were 'all bluggy ! ' But the most 
amazing work of art was a picture in a deep frame 
which hung over the rocky lounge. We have traveled 
far, and seen many art galleries, but never anywhere 
have we seen anything approaching this marvelous 
creation. It represented a cork shipwreck — not a 
shipwreck at Cork, but one constructed of cork. The 
sky was cork; the ship was cork, and the sea was 
cork. Never will I be able to forget it. John 
truly declared the whole thing was 'a corker!' 

"How many times we have laughed over that 
awful Cattaro work of art — the huge pitchers, the 
cross-stitch dogs, and the gory chromos — but there 
is one memory that will remain when all other things 
about that room are forgotten. One pleasure en- 
joyed in that poor, little, primitive chamber in Hotel 
Graz delighted my sou!. It had no view, except of 
the yellow stone and brick wall of the house oppo- 
site, with its queer, tiled roof, huge chimneys, and 

35i 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

deep-set, square windows with heavy wooden shut- 
ters, but all day long, and all through the hours of 
the silent night, from time to time, I could hear the 
silvery voices of the unseen bells in the duomo. As 
I lay awake and listened to their melodious chiming, 
I thought of Venice and the music of her beloved 
Orologio, and of the exquisite cadence of 'Big Ben,' 
who chants in sonorous tones to the great city of 
London lying at his feet. But the bells of Cattaro 
were more heavenly. In the stillness their sweet 
melody floated out into the night like the fragment 
of some adoring anthem, sung by a celestial choir. 
Cattaro may be forgotten, but never will I forget 
the sweet and solemn memory of those voices of 
the summer night. 

"Yesterday morning we started for a walk before 
breakfast, for walking here is so much pleasanter 
when it is cool. Passing through one of the old 
town gates and going out to a funny, narrow bridge, 
which looked not only ancient but flimsy, we stopt 
to take a picture of the small, meandering stream 
known as the Gordicchio. A half-dozen soldiers came 
along and looked at us with sharp eyes, for all pho- 
tographing is tabued in Cattaro. Altho I became fear- 
ful, they all passed us without making any comment, 
except one gawky fellow who I noticed hung back 
and waited for us. He seemed to be wearing a 
uniform two sizes too small for him, and upon 

352 



THE DUOMO AND ST. LUKA 

his chin was a three or four days' growth of beard. 

" 'John, John,' I whispered excitedly, 'that fellow 
is waiting for us. He is going to make a fuss. He's 
going to arrest us for using the camera. I know 
he is. I'm sure we will miss the boat!' I explained 
all in a breath. 

" 'Don't jump at conclusions, Girlie ; just you leave 
the fellow to me,' John said, calmly shutting up the 
camera and slipping it into his pocket. 

"As we approached, the man, standing at the end 
of the bridge, came forward to meet us. 

" 'Where you come from, people ?' he inquired 
smilingly; 'Ameri-kar? Yes? I knew it! Me, too, 
from Ameri-kar — me from Cheekaygo. You been 
Cheekaygo ?' 

"We told him we had, and that we came from 
Washington. In a minute we were chatting with 
the Cattaro- American as if he had been a long-lost 
friend. He told us, in his odd English, a sad story; 
but he told it so comically that we laughed outright, 
again and again. The combination of stockyard 
English and Croatian twang was simply irresistible. 
The fellow did not mind our mirth, for he nodded 
his head, and smiled delightedly to see how much 
we enjoyed his tale of woe. 

"He said he had done so well in Ameri-kar, he 
thought he would use some of his savings in taking 
a trip to Cattaro, to see his 'one mother,' who, he 

353 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

told us, most seriously, was all the mother' he had. 
Great was her joy at seeing her American son, but 
he had hardly arrived before the Austrian authori- 
ties, who 'knows everting an' sees everting, caught me, 
an' dey trow me in de army. Mein Gott! but I 
wass er domp fool to leave Ameri-kar — to come here !' 
he cried piteously, with such a wobegone expression 
that I was simply convulsed. 

"He explained that he received no pay. 'Look!' he 
cried excitedly, pointing an accusing finger up to the 
top of the mountain, wreathed in clouds; 'way up 
dere I must go, to de very top, every day of my 
life for two long year. An' what I get for it? Nothing 
't'all — only a few coppers; just enough for buy my 
tabak!' 

" 'But your mountains here are very fine ; there 
must be a magnificent view, from your fort up 
there?' John suggested amiably. 

" 'View !' snorted the soldier, in disgust. 'What 
I care about a view; you can't eat it, or drink it, or 
smoke it ! I wish I was back in Ameri-kar !' 

" 'But we like your country very much,' I assured 
him, almost convulsed at his despairing look and 
tone. 'I suppose, if you had money, you would be 
glad to live here?' 

" 'No ! Ameri-kar for mine ! I not stay in this 
country where dey can raise nothing but rocks — no, 
not if I had a million!' 

354 



THE DUOMO AND ST. LUKA 

"Then, I had to spoil everything by asking one of 
my thoughtless questions. We had noticed a number 
of queer white marks, high up on the mountains, 
which looked as if they had been painted on the 
rocks. They had aroused our curiosity, for they 
reminded us of Conan Doyle's story of the dancing 
men, as they seemed to represent grotesque figures. 

" 'What are those funny figures painted up there 
for?' I inquired, innocently enough. 'And why do 
you have to go up to the fort every day? What do 
you have to do up there?' 

In an instant the smile left his lips, and he gave 
an anxious glance around as if afraid someone 
might have overheard my unwise questions. 

" 'Good-by, I must go. I be punished if I late,' said 
he, and turning abruptly, left us, walking rapidly down 
the road his companions had taken. John called after 
him, wishing to give him some money for his 'tabak,' 
but he never even turned his head. On the contrary, 
he increased his walk to a run, and in a few moments 
disappeared around a bend in the road. 

" 'Girlie, why on earth will you ask such "fool 
questions?" ' John asked impatiently. 

" 'But they were not "fool questions," ' I answered, 
triumphantly. 'If they had been, he wouldn't have 
been scared almost to death, and rushed off as he 
did. Now, I'm determined to get a view of the 
dancing men!' 

355 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

" 'You shall do nothing of the kind,' John de- 
clared, crossly, leading me away. 'Don't look round !' 
he whispered, warningly. 'Two officers are watch- 
ing us.' " 

"Here's the end of Cattaro — and of my dear little 
diary! We are ready to leave. Our steamer sails 
in an hour. John is down stairs in the office settling 
with our landlady. She is a nice German body, who 
always wears a long gingham apron, with a huge 
pocket, in which she keeps the book containing her 
lodgers' accounts. She carries a bunch of big, iron 
keys, which are large enough to lock the city gates, 
and make her look like a jailer. She's a nice, 
motherly person, as big an improvement on the 
'dragon,' as the Hotel Graz is preferable to 'the only 
good hotel.' 

"I confess I do not love Cattaro as I did Ragusa; 
but still, I am sorry to go, more sorry still to know 
I have come not only to the end of my diary, but of 
Dalmatia. I have kept the solemn promise I made 
my conscience that day in the adorably sweet and 
solemn cloister garden in Ragusa. I brought John 
my book and asked him to read it. I hardly know 
how to write about it — it is so terribly mortifying! 
My cheeks burn yet, whenever I think of it. To my 
dying day I shall never forget how I felt when I put 
my diary into John's hand. I was hot and cold by 

356 



THE DUOMO AND ST. LUKA 

turns. As I watched him read, I saw his expression 
change, and I felt my heart go way down into my 
boots. I was so frightened I could hardly breathe. 
He had read but a few lines when he looked up and 
asked with astonishment : 

" 'Why Girlie, what on earth do you mean by all 
this nonsense about Bela? He wouldn't dream of 
"insulting" you. He wrote that note to me — not to 
you!' 

"I said not a word. I felt as if I was turned into 
stone. 

" 'When I got Bela's note from that fellow, I was 
busy discussing with the captain the weakness of 
his move of the Queen's pawn. I gave the chap a 
tip, and told him to take the note up to you — to get 
rid of him. It began "My Dear Mr. Roland," not 
Mrs. There wasn't a single word in it to which any- 
body could take the slightest exception. You must 
have been dreaming — to imagine for an instant that 
Masticevich would insult you. Why, he is as polite 
as a dancing master! I'm sure I can't imagine how 
you could have manufactured such a bugaboo out of 
nothing — if you really read the note.' 

"For once in my life I had nothing to say. I 
stood like a graven image and let John talk. I dared 
not look him in the face, for I knew my cheeks were 
crimson with shame. I longed to sink down into 
the ground to hide my humiliation. Oh, the shame 

357 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

of it — to find what a vain and conceited little fool I 
had made of myself. I was actually ready to cry 
with the wound to my pride, and the bitter, bitter 
blow to my self-respect. 

" 'I forgot to tell you that I met Bela that morn- 
ing, when I went out to see about the boat,' John ex- 
plained. 'We had quite a chat. I found him a 
capital fellow. He came right out and told me he 
admired you immensely. He confessed frankly he 
could hardly take his eyes off of you, for you were 
the very image of "his girl." He showed me a pic- 
ture of his fiancee; and, for a fact, you two are very 
much alike! He admitted they expect to be married 
this fall. And now — who do you think "his girl" is? 
Make a guess. She is somebody you know !' 

"My lips refused to utter a sound. I had to bite 
my tongue to keep from loosing all self-control. I 
was overwhelmed with a humiliating consciousness of 
my contemptible, my miserable, vanity! But dear 
old John never dreamed how mortified I felt. 

" 'Whom do you think it is, Bela is going to 
marry?' he asked again, smiling expectantly. I only 
shook my head — not trusting myself to speak a word. 

" 'Well, it turns out that Bela's lady-love, who he 
thinks is as much like you as "two peas in a pod," is 
no less a person than the von Karfenbergs' friend, 
Fraulein Hedwig Pfaffenwinkle ! No wonder I've 
been racking my brains tr}nng to remember where I 

358 



THE DUOMO AND ST. LUKA 

had seen her before. It was her picture, of course, 
that Bela showed me that morning in Zara. And, as 
he says, you two do look alike! I admit at first I 
did get a little "sore" when he gazed so at you, and 
looked so terribly "smitten," but naturally, when I 
found he was head over ears in love with his own 
fiancee, I forgave him — as soon as he told me of 
the resemblance.' 

"That made me so angry — I forgot even my bleed- 
ing vanity and overwhelming humiliation! I became 
livid with rage at such an insult to my appearance. 
It was more than I could bear — even if my pride was 
in tatters. 

"'What? I resemble that flat-footed, red-headed, 
dowdy, hideous creature — with a figure like a feather- 
bed tied in the middle?' I cried trembling with in- 
dignation. 'And you say it — you say it, too.' I 
could utter no more; my words choked me. I 
burst into a flood of angry tears. 

"I cried and cried, until I couldn't cry any longer. 
Then I came to my senses and began to think things 
over like a sensible girl. Of course, I admit it was 
horribly mortifying to find out I had been such a 
conceited little idiot! But, after all, I'd much rather 
be that, and find out that I have manufactured every- 
thing out of whole cloth. No one on earth shall 
ever find out what a silly, vain creature I've been! 
Oh ! I'm so glad, now, that John didn't read more 

359 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

than a line or two of my crazy ravings. And I'm so 
— so thankful — to know that the only cloud on our 
lovely trip never existed — except in what John calls 
my 'fertile imagination.' Dear old John! What a 
silly little fool he has for a wife. But, then, after 
all, he'd be simply wasted on a prosaic, sensible 
woman !" 



We have been home two months to-morrow, and 
the "dear box" has arrived! A week ago John got a 
horrible bill for it, which made him simply furious! 
We had the box at Cattaro, but it lost itself in some 
custom-house in Greece. We sent letters to Cook's 
offices, to the Corfu and Patras custom officials, and 
sent letters broadcast to half a dozen American 
consuls, but not a word could we hear as to what 
had become of it. The bill was enormous ; there were 
fees for notaries, freight, and dear knows what all, 
beside the duty, before we could get it through the 
New York custom-house. When I saw the bat- 
tered remnant of that box being carried up the 
steps, I felt glad to know we had reached the last 
chapter in its long and agonizing history. I had it 
carried out onto our gallery and determined to get 
rid of it before John came home and saw it. The 
awfully large bill of expense, on top of all the 
trouble we had had, and all my fretting and worrying 

360 



THE DUOMO AND ST. LUKA 

over its getting lost, had made him so exasperated, 
he declared he never wanted to set eyes on it again! 
He scolded and scolded about it, every time the 
word "box" was mentioned. He said that last bill 
was "the straw which broke the camel's back." 

Exactly as I might have expected, the "dear box" 
was a wreck! There wasn't a board left on it which 
wasn't broken to splinters. It was patched up in a 
dozen places, "crated" with flimsy boards (which 
John had to pay for as "reboxing"), and the moment 
I untied the ropes and strings which held the thing 
together, it simply fell to pieces — like the wonderful 
one-horse shay. 

But now comes the very funniest part of the 
whole story! The box was simply kindling wood. 
Not a board of the original Venetian production re- 
mained intact, and yet of all the knicknacks it con- 
tained not a single one was broken ! It is true that 
the bill was cracked off one of the white marble 
doves, who sit on the brim of my darling little yellow 
stone Venetian urn, but a touch of mucilage fixt 
that. And best, and most wonderful of all, my 
precious mirror and the carved wood dragon came 
through all the vicissitudes that box must have ex- 
perienced without even a scratch! I hastened to get 
the screwdriver and lost not a minute in putting the 
thing together, and in a jiffy had it hung on the 
parlor wall. It looks perfectly dear, and the light 

361 



DELIGHTFUL DALMATIA 

from the bay window falls upon it so that I can see 
myself splendidly. 

As soon as I had the mirror safely hung, and out 
of harm's way, I proceeded to gather up the paper, 
excelsior, and every particle of the debris of the 
splintered box. I piled them in the grate and 
touched a match to them. Just as the last remnants 
went roaring up the chimney, John came in. 

"Why, Girlie, what are you up to? You surely 
do not need to make a fire. The janitor has the 
place now like an oven!" 

His look and tone showed his astonishment; for 
he knows very well how I hate to have our rooms 
overheated. 

"John, I am getting rid of that 'dear box/ once 
and for all!" I explained firmly. "It has been an 
apple of discord, and a regular hoodoo from the 
very first moment we set eyes upon it. I never 
would have felt perfectly easy about it, unless I knew 
that every vestige of it was gone. And it is!" I 
cried joyfully, pointing to the crumbling ashes in the 
grate. 



THE END 



362 



INDEX 



363 



INDEX 

PAGE 

Adam, Robert 153-6, 161 

Adriatic, Steamers of i, 8, 15, 20, 34 

yEsculapius 151, 160-1, 197, 289-91, 297-8 

Albanians 252-3 

Almissa 179-80, 183-6 

Amphitheater, Pola 36-7 

Antiquities: 

Ancient Laws 137 

Cattaro 327-9, 336-9 

Lesina 208 

Pola 36, 41-2 

Ragusa 220, 235-7, 241, 249, 276, 278, 280, 301-3 

Salona 197 

Spalato 141, 156-9, 163, 170, 272 

Zara 56-7, 62-3 

Aprons, Peasants' gorgeous 78-9 

Aqueduct, Diocletian's 194 

Archbishop of Zara (see Zara) 

Arch of Hercules, Pola 41 

Sergii 39~4° 

Ark of St. Giovanni, Trau 135 

St. Simeone, Zara 80-3 

Artists, Work of 135, 241, 274, 319 

Augustus, Emperor of Rome 38 

Augusti (see Diocletian, Story of) 

Austrian Imperial Navy 45 

Soldiers 320-1, 341, 348 

Baptistery, Spalato (see ^Esculapius) 

Baths, Ragusa 2>oy 

Bazaars: 

Cattaro (see) 

Turkish, Ragusa 307 

Bellini, Giovanni 135 

Bishops: 

Donatus I., II 63-4 

Orsini (see Saint) 

Boats 47. 193 

Bocchesi, Costumes of 251 

365 



INDEX 

PAGE 

Bora, "Demon of the Adriatic'' 46-7, 117, 195 

Bridge, Milvian 150 

Bronze knockers, Ragusa 301 

Bulk, Professor 168, 319 

Byzantine 136, 275, 279, 301, 337 

Caboga, Count Marino 263-71 

Caesar, Julius 145 

Canalesi peasants 251 

Caps, Dalmatian 61, 93, in, 251-3, 330-2 

Caracalla 36-7 

Cattaro: Bazaar of 330-1 

Cathedral of "St. Trifone" 336-9 

Costumes in 331-2 

Earthquake in N ' 336 

Fortifications of ' 329, 334, 355 

Gate : Porta Marina 335 

Hotel Graz 348-50, 356 

Ladder of 329 

St. Luca, Greek Church of 339-41 

Camerlengo, Castle of 117 

Castelnuovo •• 316 

Cathedrals: 

Cattaro 336-8 

Ragusa 277-80 

Rovigno 26-32 

Sebenico 92-5, 100-2, 104, 106, 108 

Spalato 164-72 

Traii 126-32, 134-5 

Zara 70, 73 

Cava, "Onofrio," Giardani de la (see "Onofrio") 

Cego, Celio — Ancient Historian 70-5, 123 

Cemetery, Sebenico 95-6 

Chancellor, Ragusa 289, 297 

Chapel, St. Giovanni (see Traii) 

Votive, Ragusa 238-9 

Chiron, Story of . . .290 

Choir-stalls: 

Spalato 170 

Traii 13* 

Zara 74-5 

Christ, Jesus 145-6, 150-1 

Christians, Persecution of I49> 169 

366 



INDEX 

PAGE 

Cigale 47 

Climate 195, 208 

Clock-tower, Ragusa 221, 235 

Cceur de Lion, Richard 309-10 

Column, Roman, Zara 62 

Constantine the Great 144, 148-50 

Porphyrogenitus ("In the Purple") 

64-9, 117, 144-7, 151, 328-9 

Constantius, Chlorus 144, 151 

Corso, "Stradone," Ragusa 221, 243, 251-3, 286 

Costumes, Dalmatian 

58, 62, 79, 102, in, 179, 188, 251-4, 331-2 

Crusaders in Zara 71-2 

Curzola, Island of 209 

Dandolo, Henrico, Doge 71, 124 

Dante 38, 46 

Davy, Sir Humphry 36 

De Diversis, Ancient Historian 287-9, 291-8 

De La Cava (see "Onofrio") 
Diocletian, Emperor: 

Aqueduct of 194 

Birth of (see Story of) 

Mausoleum of 159, 164-6, 193 

Temple of ^Esculapius 159-61 

"Palatium" (see Palace) 

Story of 142-52, 155, 165 

Diomede Island, Story of 185-7 

Dominican Church, Ragusa 273-6 

Duomo (see Cathedrals) 

Earthquakes 256-60, 277-8 

Eitelberger, Professor 63, 121, 123, 275 

Error in reckoning "Anno Domini" 145-6 

Elizabeth, Queen of Hungary 81, 317 

Emperor (see Franz Joseph) 
(see Maximilian, of Mexico) 

Empress Carlotta 311 

Empress Elizabeth, of Austria 38, 313 

Falls of the Jader 194 

"Father of Medicine" (see ^Esculapius) 
Of Dalmatian History (see Lucio) 

367 



INDEX 

PAGE 

Fausta, wife of Constantine 144, 149 

Fires 242, 282-^8, 292 

Flemish Triptych 278 

Fortifications: 

Adriatic 43-4, 90 

Cattaro 329-34 

Lesina 209 

Pola 35, 42-3 

Ragusa 219, 222, 228, 240, 251, 277 

Sebenico 94, 98 

Spalato 195 

Traii 118 

Fountains, Onofrib's (see Ragusa) 

Franciscan Church, Ragusa 240, 273 

Ancient pharmacy 250-2 

Cloister 242-3, 247, 249-50 

Convent of 241, 273 

Lavabo in Convent 249-50 

Upper Cloister 250-1 

Franz Joseph, Emperor of Austria 310 

Frothingham 160, 164 

Galerius, Story of 146-7, 149 

Gardens, Public (see Zara) 

Count Gozze's 210 

Gelcich 238-9, 261 

"Giorgio" Orsini, of Sebenico 

103-10, 122, 162, 169, 251, 273-4, 293, 296 
Gravosa: 

Austrians at 214 

Charcoal peddler 210 

Garden (see Gardens) 

Grand Hotel Petka 209-14 

Plane-trees 209-10 

Grotto : "La Grotta,'' Spalato 157 

"Mons Cadmseus," Old Ragusa 290 

Guvina's doors, and pulpit 169-72 

Herzegovinians _. 62, 251-3 

Islands: 

Bua n8 

Curzola 209 

Diomede , , 116-17 

368 



INDEX 

PAGE 

Islands (continued) : 

Lacroma 309-12 

Lesina 208-9 

Lissa 117 

Madonna del Scarpello 3*7-19 

Meleda 209 

Scoglio St. Giorgio. 317 

Solta 207 

Jackson, Prof. T. G. 

39, 63, 77-9, 104, 127, 158, 163, 168, 276, 279, 288, 293, 295-6 

Jewelry, Morlacchi, Zara 59 

Dalmatian 55, 252, 254, 265 

"Julia, Pietas" 38 

Kara Mustafa, Grand Vizier 265-7 

Kings: 

John Sobieski, of Poland 267, 339 

Louis, of Hungary 81, 317 

Labarum 151 

Lacroma 3°9-io, 312-3 

Ladder of Cattaro 329 

"Le catene bocche" 317 

Lesina, Island of 208-9 

Lion's Doorway, Sebenico 105-6 

Lion of St. Mark 

26, 56, 94, 118, 122, 136, 169, 184, 208, 233, 321 
Lucio 138-40 

Madonna del Scarpello 318-19 

Magyars 62, 112 

Maraschino 103, 182 

Maresca (Wild Cherry) 182 

Mausoleum (see Diocletian) 

Maxentius 148-50 

Maximian 144-5, 148-50 

Maximilian of Mexico 310 

Meleager (Story of) 162-3 

Melia Anniana 57 

Michelozzo Michelozzi, Bartolommeo di Gherardo di 292 

Milan, Edict of ; 151 

Mincetta Tower (see Ragusa) 

Mohammedans 96, 170, 202, 206, 230 

369 



INDEX 

PAGE 

Monastery "St. Giacomo degli Olivi" 306-10 

Montenegrins 79, 101-2, 241, 330-5 

"Mons Cadmaeus" (see Old Ragusa) 

Morlacchi 58, 62, 66, 101, 121, 241, 262 

Museum (see Spalato) 

Napoleon 94, 118, 182 

Neal, Dr .' 104 

Nicolaus Raguseus, artist 274 

Old Ragusa "Ragusa Vecchia" 229, 290-1 

"Onofrio," De la Carva 235-7, 273, 294-7, 300 

"Opankas" (shoes — see Zara) 
"Orlando" (see Ragusa) 

Orleanders 213, 216 

Orologio (clock tower) 235, 273, 279 

"Palatium," Diocletian's (see Spalato) 
Patron Saint (see Saint) 

Perasto 318-19, 321 

Photography forbidden 42-3 

Pictures, paintings by: 

Bellini, Giovanni 135 

Nicolaus Raguseus 274 

Titien 135, 241, 274 

"Pietas Julia" 38 

Pillory, Zara 62-3 

Trau 137 

Pirates 98, 185-6 

Plague, The 260-1 

Plane-trees 209-10 

Poglizza, "Pojica" 182-3 

Pola: 

Amphitheater 37, 39 

Arch of Hercules 41 

of Sergii 39-4° 

Arsenal and docks 36 

Fortifications 35-6, 42-3 

Gates: 

Porta Aurea 40 

Porta Gemina 41 

Temple of Augustus 36, 4 T -2 

Pompey 38 

Pope Urban V 232 

370 



INDEX 

PAGE 

Quarnero 38, 46-7 

Queen of Hungary, Elizabeth 81-2 

Ragusa. 

Ancient city of 290 

Baths at 307 

Cathedral (Duomo) 277-81 

Church of: 

Dominican 275-6 

Franciscan 239-40, 273 

St. Biagio 272-3 

Votive "San Salvatore" 238-9 

Clock-tower 221 

Corso "Stradone" 221, 225, 251, 286 

Costumes seen in 251-2 

Earthquakes 256-9, 261, 266 

Fires 287-8, 292 

Fortifications, Strength of 235, 251, 273, 277 

Fountains, "Onofrio's" 235-8, 253, 292, 294 

Mincetta Tower, "Torre Menza" 251 

Monastery (see Dominican Church) 

(see Franciscan Church) 
"Onofrio," cloisters of (see Church) 

Orlando's Column 258-60, 268, 273 

Orsini, Giorgio (see Giorgio) 
Bishop (see Saint) 

Palace "Loggia" 294-300 

Capitals of 295-8 

Inner Court, Story of 302-5 

Plague, The 260-1 

Porta Pile 219, 222, 235, 245 

Porta Plocce 222, 235, 307 

Rector 260-1, 286-93, 298-9 

Palace 107, 259-60, 286, 294 

Sponza "Dogana," Custom House 257, 273 

Reliquaries : 

Cattaro 339 

Ragusa 279-81 

"Richard, Cceur de Lion" 309-10 

Zara 75 

Risano, City of 322-4, 327-8 

Bay of 317 

Riviera dei, Sette Castelli (7 castles) 195-6 

371 



INDEX 

PAGE 

Rudolph of Hapsburg (Archduke of Austria) 312 

Ruins of Salona 147, 168, 187, 194, 197-8 

Salona 142, 168, 197-8 

Salvia Postuma 40, 57 

Sarcophagi: 

"Good Shepherd" "Pastor Bonus" 197 

Meleager 197 

Sebenico: 

Cemetery 96 

Costumes 100, 102 

Fortifications 94, 98 

George of (see Giorgio) 

Selve, Island of 51 

Seven Castles (see Riviera) 

Shoes (see "Opankas," ancient) 

Siege of Candia 265 

Sopoti Waterfall, "Rushing" 324~5 

Spalato: 

^Esculapius (see ^sculapius) 

Ancient plan of, Adam 156 

Crypto-porticus 141, 156, 178 

Duomo (see Mausoleum) 
Gates: 

Porta Aurea 155, 157, 173, 175 

Porta Ferrea 157 

Porta Marina 156 

Ghetto, Ulica (Head in) 159 

Mausoleum (see Diocletian) 

Museum 163 

Peristyle (Piazza) 157-9, 164 

Sarcophagi 162-5, 197 

Sphinx 159 

Sponza "Dogana" 256 

St. (Saint): 

Anastasia 70-2 

Anastasio 169 

Barbara 138 

Biagio ("Blaise").. .219-20, 240, 258-9, 268-9, 271-4, 277-80 

Cassiano 29 

Doimo 169 

Dominic 273 

Donato 63 

372 



INDEX 

PAGE 

St. (Saint) (continued) : 

Eufemia 27-32, 280 

Francis 242, 247 

Giacomo degli Olivi 306-8 

Giovanni, Bishop Orsini 120-6, 135-6, 138 

Grisogono 65 

Helen, (Mother of Constantine) 144 

Hilary, Story of 291 

Lorenzo 136 

Luke 319, 339 

Mark 94, 169 

Peter 169 

Simeone, Ark of 80-3 

Stephen of Hungary 280 

Timothy 197 

Trifone Cathedral of Cattaro 336 

Teodo, Island of 316 

Titian 135, 241 

Trail in 

Ancient laws of 137 

Camerlengo, Castle of 117 

Duomo (see Cathedrals) 

Loggia 135-8 

Marina j 120 

Porch Galilee (see Cathedrals) 

Porta Marina 118 

Porta St. Giovanni 120 

Treasury (see Reliquaries) 
Treatment of women 187-8, 100-200, 203 

In Dalmatia 66-7 

Montenegrin 330-31 

Morlacchi 101-2 

Turkish 203-6 

Tribute to Sultan 265 

Turks 96-8, 182, 202 

Ulica, The Ghetto (see Spalato) 

Valaresso, Maffeo, Archbishop 78 

Veiled women 202, 204-6 

Moslems 204 

"Shrouded Women of Mostar" 202-5 

373 



INDEX 

PAGE 

Villari, Luigi, Historian 300-2 

Vitale, Doge Michieli 124 

Votive Churches: 

St. Biagio, Ragusa 272 

San Salvatore, Ragusa 238-9 

Crucifix 275, 300 

Offerings, Ragusa 117, 260, 309, 319 

Waterfall, Sopoti 324-5 

Women (see Treatment of) 

Zara: 

Archbishop (see Valaresso) 

Area of St. Simeone 80 

Crusaders in 71 

Dandolo in (see Dandolo) 
Duomo (see Cathedral) 

Gardens Giardini Publico 68 

Morlacchi 58 

"Opankas" (shoes) 60-1, 188 

Piazza delle Erbe 58, 63-4 

dei Signori 68, 79 

Pillory 62-3 

Porta Marina 56 

Porta Terre Firma 56 

Roman remains 7° 

St. Donato 63 

St. Grisogono, "Patron Saint" 65 

Wells, ancient "Cinque Pozzi" 68 



374 



THE STORY of OUR PEOPLE and 
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breakfast at "Lavenue's," stroll through the Luxembourg 
Gardens, peep into studios and little corners known only to the 
initiated, mingle with the throng of models, grisettes, students, 
and artists on " Boul' Miche " and in a hundred other ways 
see and enjoy this unconventional center. 

"A True Picture," Say the Artists 

Charles Dana Gibson : " It is like a trip to Paris." 
John W. Alexander: " It is the real thing." 
Frederic Remington : " You have left nothing undone." 
Ernest Thompson Seton : " A true picture of the Latin Quarter as 
I knew it." 

A Richly Made Book 

Watercolor Frontispiece by F. Hopkinson Smith. About 100 origi- 
nal drawings and camera snap shots by the Author, and two 
caricatures in color by the celebrated French caricaturist San- 
cha. 12mo, Cloth. Price, $1.20, post-paid. 

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY. PUBS.. NEW YORK 



" Mr. Smith does not so sightseeing in the accepted sense of the 
word. It is not the museums and historical places in which he is interested, 
but the people themselves, and he gets many a view of which the hurried 
tourist is altogether ignorant." — Brooklyn Citizen. 

In London Town 

By F. BERKELEY SMITH 

Illustrated by the Author and other Artists 



" The charm of this book lies in its breezy talk, its naive descriptions 
and its plenitude of atmosphere. It certainly is a most charming book and 
the reader will have a good time ' In London Town ' if he goes with the 
author." — Philadelphia Inquirer. 

" Everyday life and the living of it after British standards are what 
Mr. Smith sought and here reveals. He could not write an unreadable 
book, this American artist, it is all interesting that he has to tell of 
London Town." — San Francisco Bulletin. 

"The author conscientiously looks for the picturesque and he 
does much to show the brighter side of English life, for he writes in a 
light, bright, gay style that catches and holds the attention wherever one 
may open the book. Indeed tie gives a true idea of the real life of the 
Londoner as few travellers would be apt to obtain unaided." — Columbus 
CO.) Stale Journal. 

" Candor is the prevailing note in this beautiful volume. _ There is 
nothing of the guide book spirit about it. It is bright, replete with anec- 
dotes and a moving picture of wonderful London. London's labors, its 
pictures and its characteristics are shown in_ breezy fashion and even 
English cooking and London's kitchens come in for cheery comment. It 
is a refreshing book charmingly exhilarating."— Philadelphia Record. 

London Sketched with Brush and Pen : " He has studied London 
with a trained intelligence, observed it with an artist's eye, and then sives 
us a traveller's impression in a graceful, literary way." — Chicago Tribune. 

"It is brilliantly written. The glimpses of London which he gives 
are not at all like anything we are accustomed to in descriptions of 
London — herein lies the charm of Mr. Smith's book. He knows London 
quite as well as any American. It is a thoroughly delightful narrative — 
a pleasant and entertaining story, gracefully written, picturesque, and 
wholly original in inspiration and treatment." — {Brooklyn Eagle. 

12 mo. Cloth, Illustrated, $1.50. Post-paid. 

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY. PUBLISHERS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 



THE 



Amazing Argentine 

A NEW LAND OF ENTERPRISE 
By John Foster Fraser 

Author of "Canada As It Is," "Panama and What It 
Means, " "Australia, the Making of a Nation," etc., etc. 



With Forty-eight Plates from 
Photographs 



PRESS COMMENTS 

" 'Amazing ' is indeed a good word to apply to Argentine, 
as Mr. Fraser's entertaining and instructive volume makes 
dear." — New York Tribune. 

"An alluring tale of a new land of enterprise is told in John 
Foster Fraser's illustrated, indexed volume." — North A merican, 
Philadelphia. 

" We have had of late so many books dealing with the 
South American countries and filled almost from cover to cover 
with superlatives, that it is a peculiar satisfaction to come upon 
a book of description that frankly aims at truthful criticism and 
even dares to do a little muckraking." — Springfield Republican. 

" Mr. Fraser's whole book is filled with fresh and interest- 
ing incidents and anecdotes that are used happily to illustrate 
and reinforce facts." — Washington Star. 

" Reading one of John Foster Fraser's books is like listen- 
ing to a chatty friend just returned from foreign parts." — 
Denver News. 

One volume, Crown 8vo, cloth. $1.50, net; 
by mail, $1.60 

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers 
NEW YORK and LONDON 



